Centon Series: Razorblade Kiss
by Retina Not Human
Summary: INSPIRED BY TV'S DEXTER (2006) John Cena is making a living as a well paid male escort in downtown L.A., where he shares an apartment with his true love, Randy Orton, another male escort with an insatiable desire to kill. Despite the warnings of the obsessive but loving Punk, John does not believe that Randy will ever hurt him, but other men John encounters are not so restrained...
1. A: Charter Town

Author's Note: I came up with this new idea for a Centon story based on Dicken's Oliver Twist in a modern setting. Told by John's POV, you may notice right off the bat that John is the character of Oliver and Randy is the character of Dodge. It is rated M for content and features some dark and graphic themes that are not meant for younger readers. Much of the inspiration for this story came from the TV series Dexter (Showtime) and the films Twist (2003) and one of my personal favorites, My Own Private Idaho (1991).

I don't claim to own any rights to WWE or its affiliates. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter A: Charter Town

John. That's my real first name. It's also become my profession.

Male prostitutes are more frequent than people think. Films portray us as ugly, uneducated and sometimes pathetically ill-equipped to handle life's problems. Most of us are using the business to pay bills, keep up with our families, or make our way through college. The select few of us, like myself, are orphans that were thrown out into the real world at age eighteen and met with the kind of discrimination that makes jobs like these the only ones we can obtain.

Not all of us are gay. Not all of us are actually boys. Modern times have made it easier for us to manage a system of clients and regulars using technology like texts on prepaid phones that can't be traced. Pimps are basically businessmen. Clients are usually high rollers and established figures. Condoms have become a regular resource to avoid spreading diseases. It could be considered glamorous, except that it's emotionless and disconnected sex for money and I'd rather spend time hanging out with the other guys than with any of my clients.

Dolph told another hilarious joke. The rest of us laughed. Me, Justin, Tyson "The Kidd," and Daniel. We were hanging out under the bridge we sometimes called, "Home," to scare off anyone trying to get us to a shelter. We had all smoked so much dope, we would've laughed whether the joke was really that funny or not.

"Tell them the one with the one-legged monkey!" Justin insisted.

We didn't even have to hear the story to laugh. It was a good night. Tyson had built a huge bonfire out of discarded trash. It wasn't as cold as we all thought it would be. We had to get to work, soon, but we were happy for the time we had together, just being boys.

I kept looking over at Randy on the other side of the bonfire. He didn't much like being around the other guys. They didn't much like being around him, either.

They were afraid of him.

We had finished laughing and the talking died down. Tyson, Justin and Daniel took off together. I stayed behind a while. My next client was a regular, and I knew he wouldn't mind how long it took me to get to him.

"Hey, John! What's with Randy over there?" Dolph whispered as he elbowed me in the arm.

I shrugged and asked, "What do you mean? He's just resting."

I knew Randy was only pretending to be asleep. He was the kind of guy who slept with one eye open and he was instinctual about his surroundings. Randy was likely listening to our every word. Dolph didn't know that.

"Randy's a freak, you know," Dolph stated like it was made of pure fact.

"A freak, huh? Why? Because he doesn't like to smoke a joint with us?" I argued.

Dolph shook his head and remarked, "Think about it. He's a 'John' working the streets like us, and we all have regulars, but his regulars just go poof when nobody's looking."

He exaggerated with his hands. I rolled my eyes at him and asked, "What? You think Randy's offing his regulars?"

"I dunno. A male prostitute with no past and no ties. It's the perfect cover. Maybe he's like, an assassin working undercover for the government," Dolph suggested, his eyes wild with paranoia.

"Maybe you're really a schizophrenic working undercover as a male prostitute," I countered sarcastically.

Dolph shook his head but he knew there was some element of truth to the schizophrenic reference. He told me like it was some well-hidden secret, "Heyman won't talk to Randy by himself. He brings his thugs, Brock and that Giant with him."

"He brings his thugs everywhere he goes," I pointed out.

Dolph shook his head and added, "He doesn't hide behind them when he's with any of us. Only when he's with Randy. Since when is a pimp afraid of his own 'John?'"

"That is so lame," I stated.

Dolph remarked more quietly, "Man, I used to tote drugs for members of the Russian mafia. The big guys were just for appearances. It was the guys that looked like everybody else who were the most dangerous."

I snorted laughter. Dolph glared at me but quickly went back to his usual cocky smile as he retorted, "You just don't see it because you live with him and you've been totally in love with him since like, forever."

"Love is for girls," I scoffed.

"Whatever. You headed out?" Dolph changed the subject.

"Yeah, sure," I got up to leave.

I glanced back at Randy, but he was still pretending to be asleep. I wasn't too worried if he heard that I was in love with him because he already knew that. I was a little nervous about how he had interpreted Dolph's theories.

I liked Dolph. I didn't want him to disappear for making paranoid accusations that were too close to the truth.

* * *

"Money's on the table," Punk pointed with his left hand while he fumbled with a crack pipe in his right.

I put my jeans back on and walked across the room to pick up the cash. He always paid me triple my going rate because he had seen a documentary that pimps take most of their ho's earnings and it offended him that the same could be happening to me. He was passionate about underdog stories and authoritarian figures inspired his most passionate responses. He was also the son of one of the richest men in the country and money was just green paper to him.

His real name was Phil, but he always made me call him Punk. He said his friends called him that, but I didn't know if he really had any close friends. He was already smoking some of his crack stash while I pocketed the cash. I went back over to get my shirt off of the bed as I asked, "What do I say if I ever see your dad on my way out?"

Punk put the pipe down on his bedside table and told me darkly, "You'll never run into him."

He did everything with the notion that he was much smarter than his father. I didn't necessarily contest that, but I had seen too many "came home early" movies not to have a decent level of concern.

"I know that, but-" I started.

"You won't run into him!" Punk interrupted.

"Just give me something to say so we're on the same page. In a worst-case scenario," I negotiated.

Punk folded his arms and told me defiantly, "Why don't you tell him the truth? You sucked me off twice and then you turned around and spread your cheeks so I could jerk one out for myself while I stared at your asshole and imagined fucking the shit out of it!"

"Maybe I should just tell him I go to school with you," I tried to keep him on-track.

He blinked with surprise and replied, "Oh yeah, that might work. Say you're my tutor or some shit."

"Do you need a tutor?" I pointed out the potential problem.

"I don't know. I kind of suck at math," he shrugged.

Punk was still rebelling against being labeled an honor student, which he was. I told him with a sigh, "He'll ask me math questions. I don't think I can answer them."

He growled with frustration and argued, "Fine then, make it science!"

"I'll just tell him I'm on the Lacrosse team and I'm trying to recruit you. I know about the sport and he'll be so happy to hear you're thinking of doing something he wants you to do that he won't care enough to interrogate me," I finished.

Punk considered it a moment before stating, "Good one, John. I was going to say that but you beat me to it."

I shook my head and told him before I left, "You should lay off the drugs, Punk. You have bags under your eyes and you're only seventeen."

"Yeah? Same to you!" he argued lamely because he wasn't really listening to me.

I looked back at him and mentioned, "I appreciate that you're a regular, but my pimp was concerned that you sent me 67 texts just today. He's considering taking my phone away."

Punk instantly perked up. He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and tossed it to me as he stated, "Here! A dollar for every text! Give that to your pimp and tell him I'm a regular so I'll text you as much as I need!"

I counted out the wad and told Punk, "This is almost $1,100."

"Keep the change," he waved me away without giving it another thought.

I put the extra cash in my left sock and pocketed the right amount for Heyman. Despite Punk telling me I could leave out the front door without issue, I still used the sliding back doors and climbed over the fence of the backyard to avoid being seen. I was walking through the thicket behind Punk's house when I caught sight of Randy waiting for me in a nearby tree. I looked up at him and asked, "Shouldn't you be at Hunter's house?"

Hunter was a regular of Randy's. He answered with a shrug, "I killed him."

"Liar," I snorted.

He continued to lead me along, "You want to know what I did?"

"No," I chuckled.

Randy went into sordid detail, his voice calm the entire time, "I got him to let me tie him up naked with the idea it was for a sex act. I put a plastic bag over his head and watched him lose his breath. He fought so hard until the life left his eyes. I dragged his body to the kitchen and took one of those turkey cutter knives and chopped him up into little pieces..."

I stopped to stare at him. He pointed past us at the nearby junkyard in the clearing as he finished with, "Then I fed him to the wild dogs in the junkyard."

He grinned like the whole thing amused him. I swallowed hard and replied as I started to walk away, "You're so twisted."

"Yeah, but you like it," he stopped me and whirled me around to face him.

He pinned his hands firmly to either side of my face. His grip was always rough but he never actually hurt me. Sometimes the look in his eyes told me that he wanted to.

He came within an inch of my lips and whispered into them, "You suck any dicks tonight?"

"Just Punk's," I answered.

He grunted with satisfaction and took my lips with his. He kissed me long and slow, the pressure building until I had to break away and take a breath of air. He chuckled at me and I asked, "If I had sucked other dicks, would you still have made out with me?"

"Hell yes," he said thickly, leaning in to kiss me again.

His tongue forced its way into my mouth and drifted over a missing space between my back teeth on the left side. I had lost a tooth there after an aggressive client punched it out. It was only a couple of months ago and it was the closest I had gotten to losing my life on this job.

When Randy found out about it, he was furious. That was the first time I saw what he was really capable of.

We'd known each other a long time. Randy looked out for me, and he was possessive of me to an extent, but my near-death experience a couple of months ago turned him into my only constant. He was aware of me at all times, and he wanted to make sure that nothing even remotely like that ever happened to me again.

I reluctantly pulled away from our kiss and said, "I have to go. I've got someone waiting."

"You have Otunga tomorrow?" Randy fixated.

His gray eyes were like stone. He knew Otunga was disrespectful to me, but Otunga was one of my regulars and he paid me so well I put up with his sometimes outrageous demands. Randy never showed much emotion in his expressions, but I could always see his rage.

I nodded and he immediately asked, "Did Otunga get any new toys?"

"Just some handcuffs. He showed me last week but he put them away and I don't think he remembers them," I answered honestly.

Randy warned me, "Don't let him use them on you. I know his type. If he can restrain you, he won't let you go."

My instincts had already told me that Otunga had the potential to be dangerous, but Randy confirmed it for me. I nodded and replied, "I won't let him."

Randy's seriousness faded away and he went back to being devilishly coy again. He leaned in and asked me thickly, "You want me to suck you off before you go on your way?"

He knew he was the only person who could make me cum. I hated to deny him, but I was already late to my next client.

"Not now," I answered softly.

"You sure?" he teased me.

I chuckled and answered, "I'm sure."

Randy made a long sigh like he was channeling my sense of frustration. I turned off at the junkyard and started down the street, telling him over my shoulder, "I'll see you after work."

"Yeah, okay," he responded using a tone like he wanted me to know he'd see me sooner.

I knew he would be watching me throughout the rest of the night to make sure I had no problems with my other clients. Even if I didn't physically see him, I could sense when he was nearby. Randy always inspired a certain instinct inside of me, one that told me he was a predator, but I ignored the instinct because I was so deeply in love with him that I didn't want to admit the truth.

Randy is a serial killer. Ironically, he's also the only person in the world whom I trust with my life.


	2. 2: Frequently In consistent

Chapter 2: Frequently (In)consistent

Randy and I usually slept naked together. I used to sleepwalk since as long as I could remember, but ever since I started sleeping with Randy, I haven't left the bed.

My vivid dreams didn't stop, though. I could never remember exactly what I was dreaming about, but it seemed to be the same images every night.

_A man. Tall. Really tall. Like a father or an uncle. He's skinny. His face and body are covered in shadow, but I know he always wears jeans and a red flannel shirt. He smells like motor oil. He's chasing me. I feel small. Like a boy. I'm running through an old house. It's not my house, but I've been there many times before. He chases me up a long flight of stairs. I trip on the stairs. I'm crying. Always crying._

_There is another boy in the dream. He is small like me, but he never cries. His face has no expression. He is also mostly in shadow. If he ever looks at me, his eyes are blank. I seem to know that what has happened to him is going to happen to me, and it scares me. He looks at me like he knows it too, but he doesn't care. _

_I always end up trapped somewhere. A closet. A bathroom. Somewhere with little or no light. I'm breathing so hard, I think my heart is going to explode. I hear the man coming. His footsteps are loud and booming. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

_I'm so afraid of him. I know he will catch me. He always does. The door opens and there he stands. He reaches for me. His arms are long and frightening, like an alien as he continues to reach. It seems like his arms never end. Even if I back away, he always manages to grab me._

I sat up and gasped for air. Randy was lying on top of me and he squeezed my arms to soothe me as he whispered thickly into my ear, "It's alright, John. You're safe."

He always said the same thing when I woke up in a panic like this, which was almost every day. I glanced at the clock radio and realized I had only been asleep for a little over four hours.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep again for fear I would dream again.

"I should get up," I started to move, but Randy tightened his grip on my arms to keep me in place.

"Stay with me," he ordered, making a quick thrust of his hips so his dick would brush up against my backside.

It felt good to me when he did that. Not just good; comforting. Even when he wasn't hard, his groin could make me shudder with pleasure.

"I really have to go. I told Matt I'd talk to him, today," I said.

Randy surprisingly let go and rolled off of me so I could sit up, but he still left room to argue, "Matt is an idiot. I don't know why you even talk to him."

"He's my brother," I pointed out.

With a short scoff of disapproval, Randy corrected me, "He's your HALF-brother, for Chrissake! He changed his last name to Hardy just so he wouldn't be associated with you, anymore!"

"He changed it because he thinks it's a cooler last name than Cena. It wasn't because of me," I countered.

Randy stared at me like his eyes could somehow entrance me not to visit Matt. I ignored him and his gaze became more menacing as he stated darkly, "He only wants you to visit him and his precious night club when he needs more money."

"If I have some to spare, it's not a problem to spot him," I shrugged.

"Maybe I should make it so you don't have any to spare," Randy threatened.

He usually made good on his threats, no matter how stupid they sounded in the first place. I shook my head at him and replied, "You know I would still visit him sometimes. He's the only family I got."

"Family is overrated," Randy growled.

* * *

Although Randy was always vindictive towards...well...everyone, he had the most perceptive eyes I'd ever known. He was right about people's faults, and he had a valid point about Matt's need for financial compensation more than quality family time.

Still, I chose to blissfully ignore Randy's points as I walked into Matt's night club and glanced around for him. He had bought the night club from some guy who claimed he bought it from Johnny Depp, then Matt went into business with his best friend Jeff and together they had made quite a chunk of change with the club, but most of Matt's money went to gambling debts. Matt lost his apartment and moved into the back room of the night club, where he slept during the day. Matt would only contact me when Jeff was at his wit's end trying to get Matt to help pay his share of the bills. It was a vicious cycle, but like I said, Matt's the only family I got.

"Matty? Matt?" I called as I went down the back hallway.

The club was eerily silent. Even thought it was closed during the day, there were usually bodyguards or random women wandering around with hangovers and missing underwear. It wasn't always the women that were missing underwear.

"Matty?" I called once more when I reached the back room.

He was passed out in a huge executive chair behind a three-legged desk that was piled high with overdue bills. Some drug paraphernalia was strewn about between the overdue bills and around the floor. Matt's mouth was hanging open and he was so pale, he looked like he could actually be dead.

"Matty?" I asked as I leaned in to check on him.

He sprang up like he had been awake the whole time and shot back, "It's Matt! I'm not five anymore, John-ny!"

No matter how much it annoyed him, I still called him Matty when I came to see him, and he corrected me every single time.

"What's up?" I asked, pretending like I didn't notice the overdue bills.

"What the fuck do you think is up?" he glared at me like I had to be a complete moron not to know the answer to my own question.

I shrugged just to annoy him. It worked.

"I'M UP TO MY BALLS IN BILLS, GODDAMMIT! JEFF SAYS HE'S GONNA HAVE ME SHOT EXECUTION STYLE IF I DON'T PAY THEM BY THE END OF THE WEEK!"

"How much do you need?" I knew it would be in the thousands.

Matt lessened his intensity, but he was still stiff as he retorted, "Sixteen grand. Maybe more."

"How does seventeen even sound?" I pulled out a wad of cash bound in a rubber band and handed it to him.

He snatched it from me and tossed it into the top drawer of his desk while his eyes wandered suspiciously around the room like someone could be spying on us at that moment. I told him before he could think of using it for something else, "I've already told Jeff I gave you the money."

"Why do you tell him those things?! He's gonna think I don't pay my dues around here!" Matt argued.

"I always tell him you pay me back, so he just thinks it's a temporary loan every time. He thinks you've got everything handled, believe me," I told him.

Matt grinned broadly and mentioned, "I love Jeff. He's so cool."

"Maybe you two should've been brothers," I said over my shoulder as I turned to leave.

"Hey, Johnny?" Matt asked, making me turn back to face him.

He swallowed hard before he asked timidly, "You still living with that dude Randy?"

"Yeah," I answered simply.

Matt's face flushed like my answer bothered him...or scared the shit out of him.

"Yeah, well, uh...just tell him I will pay you back this time. I mean, it's been slow the last couple of weeks, but I know you ain't got much and I've got some more clients coming in next week and I think they'd wanna meet you and I'll cut you in on half of what they deal," Matt rambled.

Clients in a night club were usually high-powered businessmen looking for young men in my profession to help them forget about their wives and obligations for one night. It was not the most exciting work trying to get a middle-aged executive on blood pressure medication and a healthy dose of Viagra to relax-and-release, but they're usually to the point and they pay extremely well for even the most minor of services.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good. Did Randy talk to you or something?" I was curious to know.

Matt made an awkward chuckle and replied vaguely, "He just mentioned you don't have much and I don't wanna take away from you is all."

"Right. Well, I'll consider the clients next week as payback enough. See ya, Matty," I waved good-bye.

I noticed this time he didn't correct me.

* * *

David Otunga was my regular on Tuesdays. He was smart so it was easy for me to talk to him. He let me watch his flatscreen whenever I came over. If I turned down a request, he usually didn't argue with me. He paid me well enough to make the other guys jealous. He was also a total dickhead.

He had an ego the size of the island of Hawaii. He was a Harvard Law Graduate. I know because he told me so every single time I came over. He wanted to be a wrestler, so he pumped himself up pretty big for the part, which would be fine except he liked to lather himself with baby oil and flex on a regular basis. Sex is a little tricky when you keep sliding off the bed from an oil overload. I thought he came on the back of my leg once, but it was just a blob of baby oil mixed with sweat that dripped off of his abs.

Otunga had one of the nicest houses in the region. I liked checking out his place when I was there. He had a very well-hidden basement that I never went into, though. He asked me to come down into it with him a few times before, but my gut never failed to tell me that was a seriously bad idea. Otunga bought a lot of different sex toys that would appear and disappear in his room. I had the idea those toys ended up in his basement, probably to add to a much darker collection.

He was usually a decent guy, but Otunga had a mean streak that he couldn't always vent in the courtroom. I'd heard rumors that all the clients whom he'd lost to were injured in suspicious accidents. I was a bit of a masochist and sadism fetched a much higher income in our profession, but I only trusted Randy to tie me up and spank my ass. Otunga seemed like the type who didn't know what a "safety word" was.

"Mr. Otunga," I greeted him with a warm smile when he answered the door.

"Come in," he seemed distracted and took off as soon as I entered.

I closed the door for him and followed him upstairs to his room. He had piles of paperwork on the floor and the room itself looked disheveled. Otunga was usually extremely clean, so I was surprised to see such a lack of effort this time.

"I have casework due in two days. It's a huge lawsuit. Lots of problems," he explained before I had even asked.

I nodded and he added quickly, "You know I'm a Harvard Law Graduate."

"Yes, that's an awesome achievement, sir," I complimented him for the millionth time in just that month.

"Do you know how hard it is to go through Harvard, John?" he asked me while he sorted through his paperwork.

"How hard is it?" I already knew the way he wanted me to reply.

"It's very hard. Lots of overnight studying for exams the next morning. Lots of hours. No parties. Just work. Lots and lots of hard, hard work," he informed me.

Conversations with him had become pretty routine. I glanced around to see if the baby oil was lying out somewhere, but it wasn't in plain sight. Otunga pointed to the bed and told me, "Just take off your clothes and relax for a while. I'll be with you in a minute."

I did as I was told and turned on the flatscreen attached to the ceiling so I could catch a few minutes of channels that only came with the most expensive satellite package. I saw some of the paid channels on the guide and switched to one of them without checking what was on it. The moaning and groaning of a low-budget porn flick started blaring through the surround sound. I quickly changed the channel and glanced at Otunga, but he was still busy with paperwork and hadn't even noticed.

The next channel was some late-night fishing expedition. I mentioned to Otunga, "I always thought it would be cool to go fishing at night."

Otunga jeered like the whole thing offended him and argued, "Why would the sport of fishing sound appealing? Those fish get giant hooks stuck in their mouth on a regular basis. Sounds primitive and menial."

"I guess that part doesn't bother me," I shrugged.

Otunga suddenly perked up. He dropped his paperwork and focused intently on me as he asked, "You don't mind a hook in the mouth of a fish? What if it were your mouth, John? Would you mind it, then?"

He sounded kind of sadistic when he said it, like he was really considering putting a hook in my mouth if I told him it didn't bother me that much. I answered easily, "I never thought if it that way. I wouldn't want a hook in my mouth at all."

Otunga's expression fell and he looked away as I saw a sense of frustration building from behind his eyes. He had gotten this way before and I already knew how to diffuse the situation.

"I'm going to get some water from downstairs. Do you want anything?" I asked.

It took him a little longer than usual to return to normal. He shook his head and went back to focusing on his paperwork as I got up to make the trip downstairs.

I passed the giant saltwater fish tank on my way to the kitchen. The lights from the tank nearly blinded me in contrast to the almost pitch black kitchen area. I went for the light switch but realized I was still naked and decided not to scare the neighbors into thinking I was some perverted intruder raiding Otunga's fridge in the middle of the night.

As soon as I stepped away from the light switch, I heard Randy's voice say from inside the kitchen, "You could see better with the light on."

"I don't wanna scare the neighbors," I told the darkness, blinking to get my eyes to adjust so I could find him within it.

He was well hidden. I went to the cupboard I knew the glasses were in and reached up to pull one out. I felt Randy's arms wrap around my middle and he reached down to stroke my cock just enough to tease me.

"You shouldn't be here. I'm with a client," I argued with him, but his touch still made me groan.

"What has he done with you so far? Any handcuffs or kinky bondage shit?" he sounded acidic even as he pronounced the words.

"We haven't done anything, yet. He's busy with paperwork so I've just been watching TV," I answered him honestly.

He snorted laughter and added shortly, "Probably watching porn."

I was amazed at how well he knew my every move like he was right there when it happened. I asked him just to be sure, "Were you spying on me upstairs?"

"Not yet," he stated darkly.

I turned around to face him and asked quietly, "Do you get off from watching me have sex with other guys?"

He answered with a sly grin, "Absolutely not. I just like watching _you_ get off from having sex with other guys."

The way he put it made me flush with embarrassment for some reason. I replied shyly, "I don't get off when I'm with them. I mean, it feels good sometimes, but I only cum when I'm with you."

"I know," he whispered thickly, brushing his lips across my left cheekbone.

His gesture was simple, but it had an odd effect on me, and I was compelled to ask him, "Otunga was talking about how I would feel if there were a fish hook in my mouth. He sounded like he hoped I would want to try it. Is that really weird?"

Randy's eyes were set with mine, but I couldn't read him well enough in the darkness. His silence told me he was more than a little disturbed by what was said, and I instantly regretted mentioning it to him.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to bring up. I said I wouldn't like it and he brushed it off. I should get back to him," I tried to pull away from Randy.

He let me slip past him, but he said before I left the kitchen, "Don't let him bring up things like that with you."

"Why not?" I asked the darkness.

"It might inspire him," he stated ominously.


	3. 3: The Brock Factor

Chapter 3: The Brock Factor

The best time to ask Randy questions was while he fucked me. He liked to position me facing him and he was his most honest when he was inside of me.

"How many people have you killed?" I groaned between thrusts.

It was still early out and the sun was just rising through the window shade, casting bright yellow rays over Randy's stone gray eyes.

He made another thrust and answered thickly, "Too many to count."

Randy sank in as deeply as he could so he could capture a kiss from me before I asked another question, "Have you ever thought about killing me?"

I found the thought kind of exciting in a way. Randy slowed down to more of a grind so he could tease my prostate from inside with the tip of his cock. He answered like a soft moan, "No."

His eyes were so intense. I swore they burned into mine.

"Would you kill someone if I asked you to?" I let him take me by the wrists to hold them down above my head.

His motions got stronger. He always became more intense when he was close to climax.

"Hell, yes," he answered me with a sly grin.

Randy's smile faded and he asked me darkly, "Who do you need me to kill?"

"No one yet," I shook my head, heading to the edge of release.

Randy tightened his grip on my wrists. His grinding got stronger but never went over what I could take. He began yelling violently, "If anyone fucks around with you and you ask me to kill them, I'll take them down and rip their fucking balls off and I'll shove a chainsaw through their-"

I came so hard, I had to close my eyes just to take it all in. Randy only had to make a few more thrusts to feel the end for himself. He never seemed to feel it like I did inside, but put his focus on my reactions to sex. He would watch my expressions and touch my body while it shuddered like the sensations themselves were foreign to him. He would catch my cum in his hand and lick it up like it were made of something curiously sweet.

Randy sometimes reminded me of a mechanical man trying to understand what it meant to be human.

"I love it when you talk dirty," I laughed as he rolled off of me.

He stayed beside me and glanced out the window, giving the sun a hard glare like it had deliberately decided to shine just to annoy him.

"We have to pay Heyman today," I mentioned.

"Fuck that," Randy scoffed.

He always said that.

"We should get there before 9. He's always busy after 9," I started to get up.

"I said fuck that!" Randy argued.

I shrugged and replied passively, "Fine, I guess I won't take a shower, then."

That got his attention.

* * *

Heyman had a number of buildings where he conducted "business," but his favorite was a night club on Broadway Boulevard, where he gambled most of our earnings away in underground poker games. I wasn't all that concerned what he did with the money, as long as he didn't blame us for losing it.

Randy despised Heyman, yet he kept him alive because I could deal with Heyman and I didn't want to go through the problems a new pimp could bring. I think Heyman knew how close he was to the top of Randy's Shit List because he was always squeamish when we came by.

Heyman always brought his bodyguards with him. Giant was some former amateur wrestler they used to call Big Show. He really was huge and dominating, but a teddy bear at heart. His other bodyguard was a redneck with no neck named Brock Lesnar. He was some champion fighter in several districts and got kicked out for pumping steroids. Lesnar was the one people were really afraid of. His impact was equivalent to the character Juggernaut from the Marvel X-Men Comic Series. I never showed him the kind of fear the other guys did. That's probably why he has this major thing for me.

"Wait outside. I'll bring it on in," I told Randy.

He handed me his cash and sat idly by while I went into the night club to find Heyman. He was in the back room where I thought he'd be, flanked on both sides by Giant and Brock. I had told Randy to wait outside, but I knew he had made his way in and was watching somewhere close by.

"Your payout, sir," I handed Heyman the money.

"This doesn't look like much," he retorted as he looked it over.

Giant glared at me suspiciously. Lesnar pointed at the money and mentioned, "Looks the same as last week, Boss."

"Do I pay you to talk?" Heyman stared at Brock like he had said something heinous.

Lesnar immediately shut his mouth and Heyman counted each bill with frustrating precision. He wasn't always so pompous, but being a pimp was like a game to him, and being aggressive without notice was a good way to separate the loyal from the liars.

"It's all here," Heyman stated.

Brock breathed a quick sigh of relief. Heyman shot him a curious glance. Giant shooed me away with his massive left hand and I tried to make a quick getaway before Lesnar could track me down.

I was just down the hall from the door when Brock called to me, "John, wait!"

"Yeah?" I stopped and turned to face him.

He gave me this cheesy crooked smile and asked, "You wanna come over tonight?"

I was running out of good excuses not to see him, so I used one I hadn't pulled out of the hat in a while, "I've got such a busy schedule, man. You know Heyman has us doubled up on clients until we can get more boys out there."

That wasn't a lie. Heyman was on the lookout for some fresh faces, but his gambling problems had blackballed him from the community that catered to pimps, and until he paid down his debts, we were all stuck with a higher client rate than usual. What Brock didn't know was that I had time between clients to see him, but I would rather spent that time with Randy.

"Yeah, well, I still wanna see you sometime. How about Friday night?" he asked eagerly.

"I've got Adam and Christian that night. You know how hard it is to please two gay guys?" I made the situation sound desperate.

The truth was that Adam and Chris were two of my easiest clients, and neither of them were actually gay. They were college roommates who fucked chicks all week and then experimented with me on Friday nights while we got high together and they asked me as many questions as they could think of that had to do with sex like it were some kind of extracurricular activity that was worth more credits than any other classes.

"Oh man, I just wanna see you, that's all," Brock groaned and shook his head.

I felt kind of shitty for brushing him off so much. He wasn't exactly the worst guy I could spend the night with. I made him a sort-of promise with a shrug, "Maybe next Tuesday. I do Punk and then I don't have another client for a few hours."

"Really?" Brock beamed.

I nodded and he replied with super-wide eyes, "Ah, man! That'd be great!"

He gave me this kind of pat on the cheek that felt more like a slap. Dumb bastard didn't know his own damn strength.

Brock took off running back to Heyman and I came out to find Randy waiting in the exact same place where he was before. Somehow he always found a way to be one step ahead of me.

He put his arm around me and we walked together along the busy sidewalk, catching some stares and dirty looks along the way for being so openly affectionate. The stares didn't bother me and Randy didn't seem to notice as he pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, "You really planning on getting fucked by that monster-boy, Lesnar?"

I snorted laughter and replied, "Actually, when we had the drunken one-night-stand that started his puppy love for me, I was the one who did the fucking."

Randy looked at me in shock and argued, "No way!"

He was loud enough to turn a few heads. We continued to ignore them as I replied with a firm nod, "Hell, yes! He looks like a beast, but he turns into Gumby when I have him by the balls!"

Randy busted out laughing and we veered along the sidewalk like a couple of drunks. There weren't as many people passing us at this point, but a well dressed college frat boy was annoyed enough to flip us the bird while he yelled, "Bunch of faggots!"

Randy instantly stopped laughing and turned to glare at the man. I had seen that look before and I knew what would come next if I didn't do something.

"Don't go after him, Randy. He's not worth it," I told him.

The frat boy probably heard me, but he didn't bother to look back at us. He just dropped his jeans enough to expose his ass and gestured at it like his index finger were a cock going in and out, then he laughed hysterically at himself as he rounded the corner and disappeared.

"Fuck him. He's just some defiant asshole kid," I let Randy know it didn't bother me.

"He was disrespectful to you," Randy pointed out, still staring at the corner in case the frat boy decided to come back for more.

"He was disrespectful to us both, but it doesn't even matter because I'm not offended at all," I reminded him.

It took Randy a long time to look at me, again. His eyes were full of rage, yet his expression betrayed nothing about his intentions. It wasn't likely Randy would pursue the frat boy without knowing his name or where he was staying, but when Randy's killer instinct took over, there was no telling how far he would go.

"Take me to Stanton's. I want a real huge burger with the sweet potato fries and everything," I pleaded.

Randy's rage left his eyes and buried itself for the time being. He made a wry grin and asked, "What would you give me for a pricey meal like that?"

"It's like, twelve bucks," I shrugged, but added jokingly, "I'd put out if you add a soda."

"Be mine forever and I'll throw in a second order of fries," he remarked thickly.

"Oh my God, I love you," I batted my eyes in mock total adoration.

Randy tightened his grip over my shoulder and we kept moving, but I couldn't help thinking I hadn't seen the last of the frat boy.

That's why I didn't read the newspaper. Reading about someone I thought was a victim of Randy's unnerved me, even if most of them deserved to die.


	4. D: Criminal Intentions

D: Criminal Intentions

Out of all of my clients, Shawn Michaels was the one I liked the most.

He was a good man. He lived a simple life in a small apartment and he always bought extra food for the neighborhood stray dog. He was the loner type and never had any long-term friends, but he always had a positive attitude and took everything in his life with a huge grain of sarcasm.

Shawn had been a regular for as long as I could remember. Trouble was, he had struggled all his life with being gay, and he hated himself for who he was. He could never fully embrace it, and he continued to try to make it work with women. Every time it failed, he gave me a dozen reasons why it wasn't meant to be. It was sad to see him suffer the way he did. No matter how he lied to himself, he just, "Couldn't kick the habit," as he put it.

Every time I came to see him, I wondered if today would be the day that he would finally give in to his natural impulses and agree to be who he really was. Seeing him the same didn't disappoint me because I kept holding out hope. One day, he would see himself. _Really_ see himself.

"Hi, Shawn," I came in without knocking.

He was sitting in ass-less chaps with one leg straddled over the recliner in front of the TV with a beer in his hand and a smirk on his face. As usual.

"Hello there, Johnny!" he called to me in his throaty voice and waved over his shoulder.

Shawn was never watching anything in particular. He didn't have cable and most of the time he was watching a corny Asian crime drama series that he had bought at a yard sale for a couple bucks. He didn't speak the language, but he still kept the volume on high.

I could hear the Asian characters chattering in the background while I put my bag down on the table and pulled out some condoms and lube. With Shawn, I pocketed what I needed for him to pull out later when the time was right. If he saw them just lying out, he would start in on himself and how wrong he was. I had learned to make routines subtle with him and ease him into it.

"You want anything to eat? I bought take-out," Shawn pointed to a few boxes by the fridge.

"No thanks, I already ate," I shook my head.

Shawn focused on the TV and didn't speak up for a while, so I tried to make small talk by asking, "You talk to the girl in 2B, yet?"

He had mentioned her a few times and I knew she was bound to be yet another failed attempt at going straight for Shawn, but I encouraged him regardless because I knew these attempts were important to him.

"Yeah, yeah, I did. I took her out a few nights ago. I don't think she was into me. I'm like, twelve times her age," he waved his hand like it was no big deal.

I laughed and argued, "I doubt you're that much older than she is."

Shawn rolled his eyes and finished off the beer in his hand. He stared down the bottle a while and I realized he was drunk. I asked him passively, "You look tired. Wanna go to your room?"

"What? Where the bed is? Nah, I like sleeping in the chair," he brushed me off.

He was stalling. I knew what he really wanted, though.

"Why don't you come on, anyway? You said you'd show me your collector cards," I pointed out.

"Yeah, alright, okay," he took his time sitting up.

He always walked with a slight limp and his ass-less chaps made the walk look almost comical, like a pornographic version of Charlie Chaplin. He stumbled back to his room and collapsed face-first onto the bed. I glanced around for his collector cards and asked, "Where are they?"

"Ober der," he mumbled against the blankets and pointed at the far wall.

I saw a few 3-ring binders and went over to pick them up. I sat down on the floor and looked them over admirably, waiting for Shawn to come over and put his arms around me.

It took him almost twenty minutes to make his move. He wasn't usually this restrained and I wondered if the girl in 2B had said something to him to make him subdue himself so much more.

"Look at this one! It's mint condition. Bet you could get a lot from it," I pointed at a vintage card to get his mind off of his own inhibitions.

"That one's my favorite. Worth a lot. I should give it to you," he said, running his fingers through my short hair.

I smiled and let him continue to touch me in ways that were most comfortable to him. I was about halfway through the card collection when he finally turned his head to one side and came around to kiss me. His lips were always dry and he liked to make those super long, slow kisses that didn't have a whole lot of movement. He wasn't much for tongue action, either, but I didn't mind. Shawn reminded me the most of kissing a girl, but like one of those soft, sweet country girls that doesn't give away too much at one time.

He struggled to get my shirt off. His hands were shaking from his anxiety, but I didn't try to help him because I had learned from past exploits that it only made him worse.

"Lay down. Stretch your legs," he said with a warm smile.

I put the card collection aside and lay flat on the hard wood floor. Shawn drew along the lines of my chest and abs with his index finger, concentrating intently on my body the entire time, but I could see him struggling to make his next move.

"You mind if I take my jeans off? It's kind of hot in here," I mentioned.

"Oh yeah, that'd be fine," he said, getting up to check the thermostat.

I cursed myself for mentioning the heat. He was distracted with the thermostat for almost ten minutes before he came back to me. I had stripped myself naked and rolled over on my stomach to look at the collector cards some more. Shawn took off his shirt and sat down on his knees next to me. He pressed his hands against my lower back and I could feel that his grip was tense. He wanted to touch my ass so badly, but his mind was trying to overpower his sexual urges.

"Could you massage my left hip a little bit? I've got a sore muscle there," I pointed to a spot just at the top of my left ass cheek.

He reached for the spot and carefully rubbed it with his thumbs in a circular motion. It actually did feel good and I groaned with pleasure, inspiring him to make the circle a little wider. I rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes, asking softly, "What do you think of my ass? I think it's getting too big for my jeans."

"I think it looks alright. It's bigger than mine, but I don't really have much of an ass to speak of," he chuckled dryly.

"I like your ass! I think it looks great!" I encouraged him.

"Really? It looks sluggish to me. I like your pecs. Turn over and let me see them," he said.

I rolled over and let him check me out. I glanced down to find his erection already building. He leaned down and circled his mouth over my left nipple. It felt good when he sucked on it and I let him know it with a series of low groans. He went to the right nipple and did the same thing, inspiring my erection to full attention.

My jeans were nearby and he reached into the pocket to grab the condom and lube. He took his time putting the condom on me, then he squirted the lube into his hand and stared at it a long time before he tossed the bottle on the floor and turned away.

"You want to stop, Shawn?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know. I feel bad. I don't know," he crawled away and sat on his knees against the side of the bed.

He put his hands together and recited a Christian prayer. I waited for him to finish before I came up behind him and rubbed some lube off of his right hand. I put it on myself and asked, "Why don't I show you how the girls like it?"

"You know what they like? Damn, I can never get it just right!" he shook his head.

"I can show you, but I'll have to put it in your ass, you know, since there's no other way," I explained.

"Oh yeah, well, since it's the only way and all," Shawn nodded.

I came in slow in case he tensed up too fast. He groaned with deep pleasure from the feeling of it coming in, then he clenched his fists when he realized what he had done. I tried to keep his mind off of himself through step-by-step instructions, starting with, "You've got to go slow at first. You know, get her used to you because it's a serious process for girls."

"Oh yeah, yeah," he tried to put his attention on my words.

"Now, it's okay if this makes you feel good. Research shows that most straight guys like anal stuff because it's all connected to the groin area and everything is so sensitive," I pointed out.

"Research really shows that?" Shawn asked curiously.

"Absolutely. I saw it on a documentary about sex," I answered him honestly.

"So if it feels good, it doesn't mean I'm gay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied with a smile.

It didn't take anymore convincing after that. Shawn made as much noise as he wanted to, assuming that it was all part of the process. I could tell as he reached the end that he was really letting himself go and enjoying it the way he truly wanted to. That was the Shawn I liked best. The one who felt me the way he was meant to.

* * *

"I'll see you later, Shawn," I waved good-bye as soon as I was dressed.

"Money's on the table. Don't spend it all in one place," he said with a broad grin.

I laughed as I pocketed the money. I glanced back over my shoulder before I left and saw that Shawn had passed out, but his smile hadn't faded much. I was glad to have put him in a better mood.

Once I was outside, I checked my cell phone and realized I only had a few minutes to get to my next client. Shawn was typically a longer session but he had really taken some coaxing this time. I was still staring at my phone as I reached the parking lot, paying little attention to my surroundings.

"Hey," I heard a male voice call from behind me.

I turned around just as I felt something wet hit my face and eyes. It burned like hell.

I dropped my cell phone and cried out in pain. My eyes went blurry as I dropped to the ground on my knees. I heard a familiar voice yell, "Search his pockets! Take his money!"

The pain in my eyes was excruciating, but I somehow managed to process that the voice belonged to the frat boy that was making fun of Randy and I earlier that day. I had no idea how he had found me.

I felt hands ripping into my pockets and pulling at my clothes. They took all of the money I had gotten from Shawn and made gagging noises when they pulled out the remaining condoms and lube. I could hear them dumping my bag and laughing and cursing at the box of condoms, extra lube and various adult toys I had in there.

There were stomping noises like they were smashing some of the stuff. Someone came up and kicked me in the face. I felt blood spurt from my nose and another kick hit my left side. I couldn't see my attackers and I could only guess how many there were as I began to feel kicks from all sides.

"Faggot!" the frat boy I knew yelled.

"Street walking bitch!" another one added.

There was a sudden, strangled scream.

The kicks stopped and everything went silent for a moment. I could hear someone starting to hyperventilate with fear.

"What the fuck? What the fu-" the scream was silenced before it began.

"Shit!" I heard the frat boy I knew call out as he took off running.

I blinked a few times and I could see him heading out of the parking lot. I could also see Randy chasing after him full-force.

"Randy! Randy, come back! I can't fucking see!" I called to him.

He stopped and turned back to face me. The frat boy was still running and disappeared from my sight. Randy was by my side in seconds, his hands wet with blood as he sat me up and asked, "What the fuck did they do to you?"

"Take me to the emergency room. Please," I begged him.

* * *

"This appears to be a nasty case of some homemade pepper spray, playa," Dr. Long told me after checking my wounds and cleaning out my eyes.

Randy was still waiting outside for me, so I asked the tough question, "Will I be okay?"

Dr. Long frowned and told me with a sigh, "It may take a few days for the inflammation to go down and your eyes to look normal, but the person who made this spray definitely wanted to do some damage. Judging from the marks on your body, the intent was to kill you. You're lucky to get out when you did."

"So what does it mean for my eyes?" I asked, bracing myself for the worst.

"You have permanently lost some vision in both eyes. Your left will be a little more than half of what it used to be because it got the brunt of the spray. Your right is a lot better off. I'm going to write you a prescription for drops that will help you heal, and I suggest getting some glasses to help, although you said in your forms that you don't drive, you don't operate heavy machinery, and you don't work on the computer all day, so you can wait until you have some money put aside if you need to."

He shook my hand and told me quietly, "There are some officers in the hospital. I can ask them to take a statement from you and investigate this potential hate crime if you'd like, son."

"No thank you, sir. Like I said, I never saw my attackers and the whole thing was pretty random," I replied.

He made another frown before he looked down to write out my prescription for eye drops and painkillers for my bruised ribs and handed it to me. He led me to the main hall and I paid the bill at the front desk with the cash Randy loaned me. I was grateful to get out of there and feel Randy's arm over my shoulder again. He held me close as we walked along the sidewalk and asked thickly, "What did the good ole' doc say?"

"I just need a few days to heal and I'll be good as new," I answered with a shrug.

"Got a prescription?" he took the paper from my hand and looked it over.

"Just to help me heal. Doc said I should get glasses if I need to see better but he said it's not a huge deal," I remarked.

"Glasses? That sounds like a huge deal," Randy countered darkly.

"I don't think it is. I'll just get contacts. I can't wear glasses when I'm fucking people. They'll just fly off and get stuck in some guy's ass crack," I joked to lighten the mood.

"I know frat boy's name," Randy jumped to the next subject without so much as a chuckle.

"Oh yeah? What is it?" I asked, knowing Randy would be after him very soon.

"Cody Rhodes," Randy said venomously.


	5. 5: Best Foot Forward

5: Best Foot Forward

The days seemed to blend together. I was glad to be comfortable in our apartment while Randy went out during to do odd jobs during the day to make up for the money I would've made being out with clients. I felt hugely indebted to him for going the extra mile for me, yet I kind of resented the fact that he was too busy worrying about me to go out and kill Cody Rhodes.

My two other attackers were on the news. They were fellow frat boys and considered missing, but I knew Randy had killed them just after they attacked me. I wondered if Cody had seen Randy kill them and that's why he ran. So far, I hadn't heard any reports that Cody was saying anything to the police, so I assumed Cody was playing it smart and laying low to avoid Randy's wrath.

I tried to focus on getting healed up so I could work again, but my mind obsessed over finding Cody and confronting him. I wanted to know why he had done this to me. Was it just because I was gay, or did he have another reason for going through all the trouble to track me down and beat the life outta me? I imagined finding Cody Rhodes myself and demanding answers before Randy came out of the shadows and slit his throat, but I knew the chances were next to none that Cody would be willing to cooperate with me.

I sent a text to my clients telling them I was on a break. Most of them were understanding. Otunga was pissed off, but I told him I'd make it up to him. Punk was the most distraught, sending me hourly texts in an attempt to get me to come over anyway. I would've liked to have seen him, but Randy insisted I wait because we discovered early on that my bruised ribs made it very hard to breathe well during sex. I wasn't really in that much pain, but I didn't want to risk making it any worse.

TEXT MESSAGE FROM: PUNK:

WHERE R U? IM CUMMING OVER

His purposeful misspelling of 'coming' to represent the term for ejaculation made me laugh out loud as I read the text in bed that morning. Randy was already gone and I figured I'd made a day out of organizing the apartment, but a quick look around showed me that we really didn't have that much stuff.

"Shit," I remarked to myself as I got up and went over to turn on the TV.

I took a quick shower and put on a pair of fresh boxers and a gray Nike t-shirt before heading to the kitchen to chow down on some cereal. My phone kept beeping from texts and I knew they were all Punk. I didn't take it very seriously that he was actually coming to find me because he didn't know where I lived and I assumed his mission was just another drug-fueled rant instigated by yet another fight with his father.

My phone beeped again and I picked it up as I pushed the TV closer to the bed and lain back down. I flipped my phone around in my hand but didn't bother to read the texts as I watched an early morning game show with moderate interest. My mind once again began to drift off into imaginary encounters with Cody Rhodes, each scenario more intense than the last. My phone fell out of my hand onto the bed, but I didn't bother picking it back up. I was too angry thinking about Cody.

A sudden ringing at the door made me jump. The ringing was coming from the speaker button indicating someone was buzzing our apartment from the main foyer. I went over to check it out, thinking maybe Randy had come home early for some reason.

"Hello?" I asked as I held the speaker button down.

"Package for Cena," an unusually low voice said.

I didn't recognize the voice, so I answered simply, "Leave it in the foyer, please."

The voice didn't respond, so I assumed they either left the package or it was some kind of a prank. I went to lay back down and I was almost in bed when someone started pounding on the door of my apartment.

For a moment, I was frozen in place. The thought crossed my mind that it was Cody and he had come to finish what he started. Then I heard Punk's voice screaming through the door, "Come on, Cena! Let me in! Let me in!"

"Punk? Oh fuck, are you serious?" I checked the peephole to make sure he was alone before I opened the door.

Punk rushed inside and searched the place with his eyes like he thought a dozen or more Ninjas might be hiding in plain sight. I closed the door behind me and asked, "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"I had to make sure you were alright. I put a GPS in your ass one of the last times we were fooling around and it led me here," he answered quickly.

I snorted laughter. Punk's eyes were wild enough to match his story and I knew he was high on something. I asked him straight up, "Did you do that stuff you talk about on your computer to find me?"

"That's top secret!" he shouted, then added more quietly, "I followed you a few times before. You have a really handsome but equally spooky roommate."

He snatched a yo-yo from off the table and started fumbling with it like it were a tiny toy trying to kill him. He threw it across the room and stared at me like I had somehow made the yo-yo turn homicidal.

"You look different. Did you get a haircut?" I asked, admiring how much sexier he looked.

He ran his fingers through his hair and his eyes temporarily widened in shock before he remembered and answered simply, "I had it shaved down some. My mom kept calling me a Grease Monkey for keeping it slicked down all the time."

Punk began investigating the room again and I knew I had to get him out in case Randy came home, so I told him, "As you can see, I'm fine, and I'd like to get back to my time off now."

"What if you're not fine?!" Punk retorted, pointing a shaky finger at me.

"I am. Really. Fine," I knew there was no use in arguing with him at this point.

Punk rushed me and we both fell into bed. He wouldn't have hurt me if I were healed, but my bruised ribs shot a jolt of pain to my brain and I cried out. Punk shouted at me, "I knew it! You're not fine," and yanked up my shirt to inspect the damage.

He didn't seem as upset about the bruising on my ribs and decided to pull my boxers down to inspect for further damage. When he realized my cock was fine, he pulled my boxers back up and yanked my shirt back down, saying in a huff, "You should've told me you weren't castrated."

"What? Where did you come up with that idea?!" I blurted in confusion.

Punk straddled me and reached into his pocket. He pulled out some pills and broke one in half. He handed one half to me and said, "Take this. It'll block out all the pain."

I knew better than to take whatever a rich drug addict gave me, but the look in Punk's eyes told me he wanted to help, so I took the half-pill and swallowed it without another thought.

The pain almost instantly subsided, but so did most of my thoughts. I found myself still mostly coherent while simultaneously experiencing what could only be described as a dream world overlapping the real one. It was kind of exciting and it lifted me out of my intense thoughts about Cody, which made my mind turn to the only thoughts and impulses that were still coherent and all I wanted to do was fuck.

I reached for Punk just as a loud SLAM came from the apartment door and it flew open off its hinges. Punk shot out of bed as Randy came through the door and tackled him like football players on rival teams. Randy slammed Punk against the hardwood floor and bent his arm back to restrain him. Punk screamed in pain and Randy seethed furiously into his ear, "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Aaaaghh! John!" Punk tried to get my attention.

Randy bent his arm a little further back and Punk let out another shrill cry of pain. I got up and felt the need to prance over to Randy, then I climbed on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck as I whispered into his ear, "This is Punk. He's a client but he's also my buddy. He has a crush on me, I think. He texts me all day long. He came over to see if I was okay. I said I was and he gave me a pill and now my pain is gone. Don't kill him, Randally. Wait...Randally isn't a name. Oh my God, I'm so horny right now."

Randy instantly let go of Punk and reached around to pull me off of him. He gently lay me down on the floor and mashed his lips strongly against mine while he removed my boxers in one quick move. He went down and nearly swallowed my cock, then he began sucking it so hard it made my eyes roll over in their sockets.

I let out uncontrollably loud moans as I felt climax rising up much faster than normal. Randy was the best at this kind of pleasure and he seemed to be outdoing himself with Punk watching us from just a few feet away. I saw Punk get up and crawl over to me from out of the corner of my eye. He lay down on his stomach just a few inches away and stared at me with lust-filled eyes until my head lolled back and I groaned from intense release.

"I've always wanted to know what it looks like when you cum, Cena," Punk said thickly.

I had almost forgotten he was there and turned to face him with a confused expression. Randy was back on Punk in seconds, bending his arm back once more to keep him restrained. Punk cried out and yelled at me, "Tell him to stop!"

"Randy, don't hurt him! He's a friend!" I argued.

Randy let go of Punk's arm but Randy straddled him over his lower back and refused to let Punk sit up. Randy stated boldly. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

I rolled over on my side to face Punk better. I could see from Punk's expression that the drugs he were on had worn off and he was terrified of Randy's overwhelming animosity. Punk kept his eyes on me as he told us shakily, "I just wanted to make sure John was alright."

"I've been sending you nearly constant texts, Punk. Why would I not be alright?" I countered.

Punk answered quickly before Randy could try to hurt him again, "I've just seen too many of those movies where the guy disappears and the people who know about it try to tell everyone it's okay and cover it up until they can find a replacement and everyone moves on like nothing happened and I couldn't let that happen to you, John!"

"Well, thanks but I'm okay. Really, I am," I told Punk.

"Then what happened to you? Why are you all bruised up and your eyes are kinda red?" Punk argued.

I glanced up at Randy. He shook his head no but I decided to tell Punk the truth anyway, "I got attacked by some frat boys. They beat me down because I was gay."

Punk blinked with recognition and answered surprisingly, "I know those fucking guys! They hang out with that shithead Cody Rhodes on campus and they beat the shit outta anyone they want because Rhodes is some kind of genius who can use the computer to track people!"

"You know about Rhodes?" I asked curiously.

Even Randy was surprised. Punk went on, "Yeah, I know him. I went to a frat party with some of my friends, but Rhodes and the other frat boys said we couldn't get in because he were still in high school, so I flashed them some of my stash and they let me through. Rhodes heard me talking about some of my tech experience and he showed me a basement full of computers he uses to do all kinds of hacking and shit. He led me to another room down there and tried to put the moves on me. He wouldn't let me out and he said he was gonna keep me down there like some kind of a sex slave. He only let me go when I explained who my dad was and I gave him enough drugs to help him stay awake and pass all his finals."

Punk finished with, "He brought his friends a few days later and beat me senseless right behind the high school. Rhodes told me it had to be done because I was a faggot and he spit on me and left. I started getting these weird e-mails from Rhodes shortly after that threatening me not to go out with any boys or they'd all pay, too. I was pretending to date my friend Eve at school because I was afraid he'd go after my ex-boyfriend Styles if we tried to get back together. The e-mails stopped after Eve and I went to some parties together and I just thought Rhodes was done with me."

I looked up at Randy. Punk's story made me wonder if seeing Rhodes on the street shortly before my attack was no coincidence. Randy nodded to confirm my suspicions and stated, "He must be spying on Punk's house."

"Fuck, I knew it! I'm sorry, John, I really am! I had no clue he would come after you because of me!" Punk wailed.

"Don't worry about that, Punk. Just tell me where I can find Rhodes," I said.

Randy opened his mouth to argue with me, but Punk didn't see him as he answered, "He'd be in class up on campus right now. He has an advanced economics class with one of my cousins around noon."

"Take me to him. I want to scare him just as badly as he's tried to scare us," I stated.

* * *

"This is a bad idea," Randy argued from the backseat.

I wasn't sure whether he was referring to meeting up with Rhodes or accepting a ride from Punk.

The car was vintage and the ride was remarkably smooth, but we were going too fast to make out most of our surroundings. Punk weaved in-and-out of traffic, flew through several red lights, and I was pretty sure he had killed at least seventeen stray cats on both the road and the sidewalks, but somehow he had managed to get us to campus in one piece without being stopped by a single cop...or a pedestrian.

"Just stay here. I don't want him to recognize you and get you into trouble," I told Randy.

He took my head in his hands and gave me a quick but super intense kiss, then he sat back and folded his arms like he would be counting the seconds until our return. I assumed he had made a mental deadline, and if we weren't back by the time it was reached, he'd come to find us.

I gave him one last wry smile before shutting the door. I let Punk lead the way. He was still completely wired from being in Randy's presence and he didn't speak until we were in the building, "Who the fuck is that guy? Is he a Terminator sent back in time to protect you? Is he?!"

"No, he's just a serial killer with an unhealthy attachment to me," I answered honestly.

Punk swallowed hard at the mention of killer, then he argued with me, "Is that why you're never too worried about what you do? You know you're safe because you have Mr. Randy to take out any trash that tries to defile you?"

I had never thought of it that way before, and Punk made it sound like I was taking advantage of Randy's skills for my own gain. I got offended and countered, "That's not what it's like at all! He's not some kind of a bodyguard! I still do what I need to and pay my way through just like the other guys!"

Punk became strangely reasonable as he asked seriously, "If you know he's a killer and you're not with him for protection, then why are you with him?"

He stopped in front of one of the classrooms and stared at me. I didn't know how to answer him because I had never really given it much thought. He nodded to the door behind him and said, "Rhodes should be in there. Class is about to start, so you better make it quick."

Punk had an odd look in his eyes like he were showing legitimate concern for me. I had never seen him show much emotion when we were together besides drunken or drug-fueled rants, but now he seemed so much more human that I couldn't help wondering if he had much stronger feelings for me than he ever let on.

I reached past him to open the door. He didn't say anything, but he was reluctant to step aside and let me walk through. He followed me into the classroom, which had an oval shaped series of seats much like an auditorium, but there were only a handful of students waiting for class to start, and Rhodes was the easiest to spot because he was in the seat closest to the professor's podium.

Rhodes was looking back over his shoulder and flirting with a couple of cute girls behind him, so he had no idea we were there. Punk put his hand on my shoulder and tried to lead me back out the door, but something came over me and I just couldn't walk away.

From this distance, Rhodes looked blurry to me. It was his fault I couldn't see him more clearly, and I wanted him to know it.

I deliberately made my way over to him. I was trying to act as normal as possible, but I must've been more tense than I realized, because the two cute girls shut up as soon as they saw me and Rhodes turned around to see what the problem was. His eyes set on me and he went pale...but only for a moment.

He recovered so easily, it was like the second of fear never happened as he asked, "How's it going, John?"

He wanted me to know that he knew my name. He said my name like we were friends. It made me violently ill.

I wanted to puke, but I somehow forced myself not to. Punk came up beside me and a charming grin spread across Rhodes' face as he put the pieces together and realized that I had figured out exactly why he had attacked me. He remained amused as he asked markedly, "Punk, I know you're still in high school, but John, are you coming to me to be my next pledge?"

His eyes stared sadistically into mine as the anger inside of me intensified. He knew he was getting to me and he didn't try to hide anything. I could tell he was imagining taking me in as a pledge, torturing me in so many twisted ways and waving it off as nothing more than the usual hazing rituals. I had seen a similar look in Randy's eyes when he talked about some of his victims, but never had he turned that kind of attention on me like Cody was doing. It suddenly came to me how much danger I had just put myself in.

Randy was the kind who killed you and put you out of your misery fairly quickly. Cody was the type who taunted and teased and tortured you until you begged for death, only to keep you alive for love of the game.

Punk tugged on my arm and whispered, "Professor is coming."

I heard the door open behind us and I knew I was out of time. I couldn't let Cody have the last laugh, so I leaned in and whispered to him, "I know what you are."

His evil grin only faltered slightly as he processed what I really meant by that statement. A gleam came to his eyes as he silently congratulated me for being the first of his potential prey to recognize the killer within. He gave me a quick nod good-bye and said aloud, "We'll meet up later and finish this."

"Let's go," Punk pulled me away before I could answer Rhodes.

My emotions got the best of me when we got out to the hallway and I rushed into the nearest bathroom to gather myself. Punk waited just outside the door for me as I did my best to breathe normally. It took me a few minutes to finally calm down before I opened the door and came back out to meet Punk.

"You alright?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I just wish I could've told him to fuck off," I countered.

Punk nodded in agreement and we went back outside. We were about halfway to the car when I saw a campus police officer walking towards us from the East end. I glanced at Punk's car to try to catch Randy's eye, but I couldn't tell through the tinted windows if he were still in there or not.

The officer waved for us to stop and we did. Punk tensed up and whispered to me, "Don't let him arrest us. I've got enough pills in my pocket to put us both away for years."

I rolled my eyes at Punk as the officer stopped in front of us and asked in a burly voice, "I'd like you two to come with me, please."

He motioned for us to follow him. Punk looked from me to the officer and back again. The officer noticed something was wrong and squinted his green eyes as he asked, "Are you alright, son?"

Punk suddenly started flailing his arms and screaming, "Violence! Anarchy! Evil, sadistic banshee monkey people!"

He spun around in circles and imitated a schizophrenic having a major episode. I only knew that because he had made the same demonstration to me once before a few months earlier when he thought he had mental illness after watching too many YouTube videos about patient cases while doping up on pills and a caffeine six pack. I used Punk's uncanny ability to go from normal to unhinged like it was as simple as walking the dog to my advantage and explained to the officer, "I'm a student counselor with the Psychology Department. This young man is one of our special cases and I should get him back as soon as possible."

Punk cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, "It's clobberin' time!"

It was overly dramatic, but the officer bought it. He put his hands up in defeat and said, "There's been a mistake, here. I was told to pick up two young men for harassing another student. I saw the two of you out here and assumed you were the ones to blame, but I see now that I was very wrong. Please, move along."

"Thank you, sir," I took Punk by the arm and led him away while he continued to quip and snatch phantom things out of the air like he were seeing something we could not.

I whispered to Punk when we were a safe distance away, "Where is the Psych Department?"

"On the West side," he mentioned, and I took us in that direction in case the officer were still watching.

We rounded the corner and waited a while before I looked back to make sure the officer was gone. Punk was right behind me and I mentioned to him, "I don't see Randy. I wonder if he's still in the back seat."

"I'm right here," Randy said from behind us, making Punk shriek.

"How the fuck did he do that?!" Punk searched the area around Randy like it had to be rigged with a time portal to allow for such an quick appearance.

Randy looked at me and asked deliberately, "Did you get what you wanted?"

"Not really, but I did find out something," I answered.

"What would that be?" Randy asked, swatting Punk away as he tried to reach out to touch him and make sure he was real.

"He's like you. Only worse," I replied darkly.

* * *

"What are you going to do?" Punk asked me as soon as we were alone again.

Randy had left for the night to take care of his clients while I stayed in the apartment with Punk. I was surprised that Punk had shown no interest in going home, even after Randy made it clear he still wasn't exactly invited and Randy even made Punk fix the broken apartment door. Punk hadn't said much with Randy around, but now that Randy was gone, he was eager to hear my revenge plot.

"I don't have anything, yet. Confronting Rhodes took more out of me than I thought it would," I answered honestly.

Punk frowned and asked, "Well, why don't you just tell Randy to kill him?"

"It's not that simple. I mean, if Rhodes is as evil as I think he is, he could end up killing Randy first," I pointed out.

Punk finished the peanut butter sandwiches he was making in the kitchen and came over to lay down beside me in bed. He handed me a sandwich and watched me eat mine while he placed his own on his bare stomach without taking a bite. The only light was coming from the TV as it played a sitcom in the background to keep the silence away. I swallowed the last bite of my sandwich and asked Punk, "You gonna eat yours?"

"No," he said, handing me his share.

I finished off both sandwiches and looked at Punk. He was still in his jeans but he had taken off his shirt while putting the door back on its hinges and I could see a little more muscle definition going on since last time. I asked him curiously, "Do you work out a lot?"

"Gym boys pay big money for some of my stash. They make me work out with them so it doesn't look like they're buying from some bean pole," Punk retorted.

I chuckled and replied, "Well, you look pretty damn good."

"I know," he sighed, then he added more seriously, "You in any pain?"

"Not now. Whatever you gave me earlier really did the trick," I replied with a smile.

"I'll give you some more in case you need it. Don't take more than a half-pill a day or you'll get so horny you'll end up sticking your dick in places it was never meant to be," Punk warned me.

"Drawn from personal experience?" I asked jokingly.

"Shut up," he snorted, making me laugh out loud.

He rolled on top of me and pressed his lips against mine before I had even finished laughing. I knew what he wanted to do so I let him go on, not really thinking about how much I should charge him for an in-house service.

Punk lifted my shirt and focused on my abs, pressing his lips against my skin and sinking his tongue deeply into my belly button. I pulled my shirt off so I could see him better and I wondered if he would try to fuck me this time.

We had known each other for a long time, and I was always aware that Punk was a bottom who desperately wanted to know what it felt like to top someone. When he was with me, he rarely asked for full-on penetration and kept it strictly going down on each other, fingering or rimming. He liked to stare at my ass and he would imagine himself fucking it, but something stopped him from asking for what he really wanted from me.

I wasn't sure exactly what stopped him. Judging from the other things I did to him, he was a fully functioning teenager who wasn't shy about experimenting, and it obviously wasn't a problem about payment. Despite his erratic nature, Punk made sense to me, but his reasons for not acting on his strongest desire totally puzzled me.

Punk sat up on all fours and I could see his erection building behind his jeans. I reached to open them but he pulled away, saying quietly, "I want to see you, first."

I put my arms back and let him take hold of my boxers. He took them by the rim and slowly pulled them down. His eyes grazed over my erection with a sense of awe like he were seeing it for the first time. He came back up to kiss me again and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"What?" I asked curiously.

I looked into his eyes and saw the tragedy in them just as I felt the needle pinch me in the thigh. I didn't even have time to react before the injection took over and I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness.

"It'll all be okay," Punk whispered, "I won't let him hurt you."

Just before I blacked out, I swore I heard him say, "I'm so in love with you, John."


	6. Six: Rock Candy

Six: Rock Candy

I woke up to an odd smell.

It wasn't like the smell of the city. This was a fresh kind of smell, one that featured water and cool air.

The bed I was in was too soft to be mine. I sat up and looked around. The room was filled with beach house features, including sea shells hanging on the white paneled walls and a ceiling fan made of wicker.

Where am I?

My last memories came flooding back: I was making out with Punk. I thought he would ask to fuck me. He told me he wouldn't let me get hurt. He stuck me with a needle.

I instinctively reached for my hip. There was some pain where I remembered Punk injecting me, but otherwise it looked like nothing had happened. I was still in my boxers from the last thing I could remember, and from what I could tell, Punk hadn't done anything to me while I was out.

You can never be too careful.

I could hear water splashing against the shore just outside. I stood up and wandered over to the small window. As soon as I looked out, I recognized the beach front and I knew I was far from the streets of L.A.

Punk was standing ankle-deep in the ocean, poking a stray clog of seaweed with a rather flimsy stick. He had rolled his jeans up past the knees and he resembled a little boy discouraged by the choice spot of the family vacation. I glanced around and saw no one else nearby, so I assumed Punk and I were alone.

I stormed out of the room and made my way out to Punk. He saw me coming and waved with a short smile like nothing was out of the ordinary. As soon as I was close, I shoved him hard and he fell backwards into the ocean. I shouted at him furiously, "What the fuck are you thinking?!"

He sat up in the water and spit out a mouthful of ocean before he cried, "I'm trying to keep you safe! Don't you know that?!"

"Safe? Safe?! You drugged me and took me away from everyone and everything I know! How is this helping?" I argued.

Punk glared at me and stated, "I was saving you from _him_."

"Cody wasn't a threat to me! Randy would never let anything happen!" I shot back.

Punk scoffed and retorted loudly, "Oh yeah, because everyone's heard the story about the killer who changes his ways for his one true love and they live happily ever after!"

I blinked with surprise. I didn't think Punk knew how dark Randy really was. He went on by pointing out simply, "Love doesn't conquer the killer instinct, John. You know that whether you want to admit it or not."

I shook my head and made a counter of my own, "Whatever is going on between Randy and I is none of your business! And if you think hiding me out in some random beach house for the rest of my life is saving me, you got another thing coming!"

Punk just stared at me like I shouldn't be arguing with him. I turned to leave and stated, "I'm outta here."

"John? John! No, come back!" Punk stood up and came after me.

I tried to walk faster to get away from him. He called to me a few more times, but I wasn't planning on turning to face him.

Then I heard the click of a gun being cocked, and I froze.

"You can't leave me," Punk told me seriously.

I slowly turned around to face him. He was pointing a pistol at me and although his aim was unsteady, I knew from the passion in his eyes that he would just as soon kill me so he didn't have to watch me walk away.

"Why are you doing this, Punk?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.

He wouldn't say it, so I shouted again, "Why are you doing this, Punk?!"

"You can't leave," Punk said to me.

"Why not? Why can't I go?" I argued.

His eyes drifted from side-to-side before coming back to face mine. He told me somberly, "Because I'm in love with you."

I made an expression like the revelation surprised me, but Punk didn't buy it. His desperation turned to anger as he shouted, "Get down on your knees!"

"Why? What are you gonna do?" I fought him.

"Just do it!" Punk ordered.

I only gave in because I didn't think he was going to do anything aggressive. He came around behind me and I felt him point the pistol at the back of my head. There was a second where I actually thought he was going to kill me.

Then I felt the prick of a needle.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open. The sunlight that was in the room before had faded to afternoon. I was back in the same bed as before, and still in my boxers, but something was wrong.

My wrists felt cold. I tried to lift them and caught the glint of handcuffs.

They were on an extended chain that wrapped around the headboard. I stared at them for a while until it registered that I was actually restrained. I had been tied up before with ropes and belts and various other things, but I couldn't recall ever being handcuffed.

Yet something about it was inspiring a fear unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

It was more than just being trapped. A wave of panic washed over me as I suddenly felt like the air had left the room and I would never escape this place. I started breathing so fast, I could hardly gain the strength to yell, "Punk! Punk, let me out!"

The fear overwhelmed me. I couldn't explain it, but I was terrified of being handcuffed like this. My mind raced with delusions that I would never escape and I would die from these restraints. I had no idea what was happening to me, but it was horrible.

"PUNK!" I screamed.

My lungs felt like they were burning. A warped memory tried to creep its way into my mind. Something old, from when I was a boy. Something I didn't want to remember and I was desperate to run away from.

Punk rushed into the room. He must've seen the fear on my face because he crawled into bed and tried to comfort me by saying, "I'm not going to hurt you, John, but I can't let you leave."

"Please! Please, get me out of these cuffs! I promise, I won't leave you, just don't keep me like this!" I pleaded.

He couldn't understand why I was so upset, and I couldn't explain it to him. Punk started to shake his head so I shrieked, "Please, God, please! I'll do anything! Anything, please!"

Punk finally relented. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. I rolled away from them as soon as I could and fell out of the bed onto the floor. I backed up until I couldn't see the cuffs anymore and the fear started to fade.

The memory trying to break the surface disappeared back into the depths of my mind. I was grateful not to face it as Punk crawled out of bed and made his way over to me. He reached down to help me up and said, "I won't do that again as long as you promise you'll stay."

"I'll stay," I nodded.

* * *

With no idea where I was and no getaway plan, I decided to sit back and relax until opportunity came along. I spent the rest of the evening watching TV downstairs while Punk cooked us a meal in the kitchen nearby. I noticed that he wasn't as high as usual and he was actually good company in a normal state of mind. I was enjoying spending time with him so much, I almost forgot that I was being held captive.

It was late and we were lying on the couch together. We were watching a show that wasn't that interesting, so I leaned back and gave Punk a kiss underneath his chin. He had a bit of a beard but it felt softer than I expected as he turned his head and aimed for my lips. We started kissing each other cautiously at first, like we were first time lovers trying to experiment. It was kind of intriguing and I didn't really want to stop.

I was still in my boxers and Punk took them off. His hands were still shaking and I wondered if he were experiencing some kind of withdrawal. I reached underneath his t-shirt and raked his skin just enough to make him groan before removing anything. I took my time with his jeans, working out a system where I could touch him and arouse him while throwing away clothes at the same time.

We fooled around for a long time. Even when I was with Randy, it wasn't this involved and I had no idea I could be this close to someone and feel this good without having sex. It wasn't even really what we were doing to each other that made it so good, but just the idea of what we could do with each other.

I looked down and I could see that Punk was hard. He let out a long sigh and I could see that he was struggling with the desire to fuck me. I told him thickly, "Just spit into your hand and lube it up, then stick it in a little bit and see if you like it."

I rolled over and waited for him. He confessed anxiously, "I just don't think I can keep it up for long. I don't wanna be that thirty-second guy."

"Don't think about that," I replied, "but let whatever happens just happen."

He was reluctant to go on and I thought he would decide to let me take over, but then I heard him spit into his hand and I braced myself for anything.

Punk pressed the head of his cock against my backside and sucked in a deep breath before trying to enter. He let out a grunt of surprise as he pushed in and I felt some restriction as I said, "Come in a little faster."

He pushed a little too fast and there was some pain on my part, but Punk was overwhelmed with arousal to the point where I thought he'd be done before we even got started.

"You alright?" I asked to be sure.

"Yeah, yeah, I just...how hard should I thrust?" he asked curiously.

"Go at the pace that feels right," I said.

He started off with a small thrust. It didn't feel like much and I was glad when he picked up some speed until he built a rhythm. I bent my knees a little more to give him more wiggle room since spit wasn't exactly the best lubricant. It helped and I was surprised to find Punk not only passing the thirty-second point, but going on through the one minute mark.

His rhythm was softer and much more methodical than Randy's. I hadn't really done it with anyone who wasn't trying to fuck the shit out of me and I wondered if this was how regular couples had sex. It was strangely inviting and was starting to enjoy myself more than I thought I would.

Punk wrapped his arms around my waist and clutched me in front while he continued to thrust in back. Again, I was caught by surprise at the equality of our connection. I closed my eyes and let out a low groan as I felt the reach of climax inching closer.

I heard Punk start to moan the way he always did when he was about to cum. I had heard it plenty of times before, but this time it was much more arousing while he was inside of me. He groaned my name and it sounded so good that I just focused on his thrusts and his stiff cock and the sweat dripping from his chest onto my back...

I lurched forward as an unexpected orgasm hit me full force. Punk did the same, but he sounded like he was more than ready to feel it. He collapsed beside me and let out an airy laugh when he saw my confused expression, asking curiously, "Were you not expecting that to happen at the end?"

"No, I really didn't," I shook my head.

Punk asked more seriously, "Is there something wrong?"

I didn't want to tell him that I only ever came when I was with Randy, so I replied with a shrug, "No, everything was just right."

He grinned broadly and closed his eyes to rest a moment. I got up and told him, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"It's the first door on the right," Punk directed me with his eyes still closed.

I found the bathroom easily and shut the door. I hadn't turned the light on yet and I reached for the switch when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

My whole body tensed. I knew someone was standing just behind the shower curtain.


	7. 7: Ultimate Denial

7: Ultimate Denial

The person behind the curtain didn't move, even as I stood there waiting and with each passing second it became more and more obvious that I knew someone was there. I took in a deep breath and held it as I slowly pulled the curtain back and hoped for the best.

It was Randy. I still didn't sigh with relief, though, because he had a huge buck knife in his right hand and I knew he was here to kill Punk.

I couldn't see his eyes well in the darkness, so I had no idea how furious he was or what he was waiting for. I stepped carefully into the bathtub with him and wrapped my arms around his waist, but his body was like stone and he refused to embrace me.

His clothes felt soft against my naked body. He smelled like musk and I could feel the blade of the knife near my left hip. I lifted my eyes to meet his but I still couldn't see him well as I whispered, "Please don't kill Punk."

"He took you from me," Randy made it sound like judgment had already been rendered.

"He was only trying to protect me. Please, Randy," I begged him.

I didn't want to watch Punk die. I didn't want Randy to kill him. I just wanted Randy to take me home and we could forget about this whole fucked up mess.

"I came here to kill him..." Randy paused before continuing thickly, "Then I heard him make you cum."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that would happen," I instantly felt a sense of regret.

Randy shook his head and countered darkly, "I'm not angry with you. I'm angry that he gave me a reason to let him live."

I swallowed hard and said, "Just take me home. He's out there half-asleep and he won't even notice we've gone."

Even as I said it, I knew Randy wouldn't go for the idea. He came out of the tub with me and went right out the door as soon as he had an opportunity. I rushed after him but Randy was too fast for me. Punk was still resting on the floor until he was grabbed around the neck and held down by Randy's intense upper body strength.

"Randy, stop!" I screamed.

Punk opened his eyes wide and Randy lifted the buck knife as if preparing to stab him. Punk cried out as Randy brought the knife down, but halted it just a quarter-inch above Punk's right eye.

There was a long moment of shocked silence, then Punk began whimpering as tears formed in his eyes and he stared at Randy as the face of Death. I said one more time, "Randy, please stop," but it only came out a whisper.

Randy's cold eyes stared down at Punk like he was nothing more than a grain of salt in the ocean. I had seen Randy's fury before, but it was always against people who deserved to be punished. This was the first time I had ever witnessed Randy's desire to kill being focused on someone for the crime of attempting to protect me from being murdered.

Punk's expression showed only fear as Randy told him calmly, "I'm taking John home. He doesn't need to worry about Cody Rhodes anymore."

"Wha...what have you done?" Punk asked shakily.

Randy answered just as simply as he began, "I put a knife in his stomach and took out some of his intestines. I didn't remove enough to kill him, but locked him away in a safe place where he'll have to see the damage for a while before he dies. Do you know why I did that?"

Punk was so stunned, he could only respond by shaking his head.

Randy finished with an amused smile, "I didn't believe the guy had any guts at all. Turns out, I was wrong."

Tears streamed down Punk's face as he considered meeting the same fate. Randy lifted the knife away from Punk's eye and stood up to leave. I grabbed my clothes and put them on as Punk rolled over on his stomach and started sobbing uncontrollably. He was still under the impression that he was going to die. Randy only turned to him at the last second before we were about to go out the door and stated to Punk, "You made John happy. He is the only reason you're still alive right now. Remember that."

* * *

Randy said nothing as we made our way home. The night was cold and made things all the more uncomfortable as I tried to understand what had just happened.

"Why did you scare Punk like that? He was no match for you," I started to argue when the silence became too deafening.

"He needed to know there was no reason to keep you there," Randy replied with a shrug.

He could be so emotionless, sometimes.

"It was wrong and you know it! I should've gone out there and talked to him alone," I grumbled.

"What do you think that would've achieved? He handcuffed you to the headboard to keep you from leaving! Who's to say he wouldn't have done it again?!" Randy bellowed.

I stared at him in disbelief and asked, "How long were you watching us?"

He passed off the terror I felt while handcuffed and remarked idly, "Punk came to your rescue and set you free. If he hadn't, I would've intervened."

"You just wanted to see what he'd do, didn't you?" I countered darkly.

"I wanted to see what he was capable of, yes, but you were in no danger," he made it sound like I should've known he was near the whole time.

"You asshole," I shot back.

"What?" Randy glared at me.

"You heard me!" I shouted.

He suddenly swerved off the road and went barreling at high speed towards a nearby rest stop. I grabbed onto the passenger door and held on for dear life until he came to a halt double parked in the lot. There was no one else around and I felt legitimately worried as Randy got out of the car and called to me, "Get the hell out!"

I glanced down at the seat and saw the buck knife only a few inches from me. I thought about taking it, but I considered that he could've easily killed me already and I didn't want to infuriate him any further.

He waited, watching me with a predatory gaze as I slowly got out of the truck and closed the door. Randy just stood there until I came over to him and asked, "What do you want?"

His normally gray eyes shined like silver in the light of the moon as he stated coldly, "Take off your jeans."

The words turned me on despite being thick with rage. I asked quietly, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to fuck you. Take off your jeans," he ordered.

I took my time opening my jeans and slowly pushed them down past my knees. I felt nervous not knowing if someone were just around the corner and could pull up to the rest stop at any second.

"Shoes and socks too," Randy stated.

He waited until I had removed everything but my t-shirt. I started to lift it up, but he barked at me, "I didn't tell you to take that off! Leave it!"

I let go of my t-shirt and stood there. Randy started towards me and I backed up a few steps. I wasn't so much afraid of him as I had no clue what he was trying to do. He pointed at a nearby wall made of cinder blocks and told me, "Turn around and lean over that wall."

He said he wasn't going to fuck me, but it seemed like that's what his orders were building up to. I swallowed hard and made my way over to the wall, feeling somewhat grateful that it wasn't the most disgusting part of the rest stop to be leaning on.

The hardest part was turning away from Randy. I didn't want to leave his gaze because I thought it would make me look more like a victim to him. I still trusted him enough not to cut my throat and I did look away, bracing myself for whatever would come next.

I heard Randy pick up my clothes and shoes and he tossed them into the back of the truck. Then I heard him coming back to me. I heard the click of his belt as he unhinged it and removed it, then everything went silent.

Nothing happened for a good minute. I thought maybe Randy had left and I dared to glance over my shoulder. I felt a hard smack against my backside as the leather of Randy's belt made contact with my skin. It burned like a mother and surprised the shit outta me.

"Don't you ever leave me again!" Randy shouted violently, spanking my backside even harder the second time.

I groaned as his ferocity inspired more pleasure than pain. Randy had been aggressive with me before, but never had he pushed past the limit like this, and I was surprised to find that I liked it more than anything he had ever done to me.

"Don't you ever let anyone cuff you or tell you what to do besides me, do you understand me?!" he spanked me twice more between furious screams.

My whole body was shaking from a mix of being half-exposed to the cold night air and adrenaline pumping through my veins. My ass cheeks were raw and bleeding. I was hard as a rock and so fucking turned on.

My knees buckled and I started to fall away from the wall. Randy grabbed me around my hips and forced my body to stay in place, then he took hold of my shaft and massaged it a few seconds until I felt my release.

It was so strong; so intense. It took most of my energy away and I couldn't believe how good it felt. If I thought Randy had lost anything by no longer being the only one to make me cum, he had proven me completely wrong.

He held onto my cock even as it went down. I closed my eyes to catch my breath and I felt something cold and wet dripping down Randy's fingers onto my crotch. I opened my eyes and looked down to see what it was.

Blood.

He had cut open his forearm and blood had drenched his skin. The cut was big enough to be from the buck knife and it was obviously self-inflicted. I put my hands over the wound to stop the bleeding but Randy pulled away and stated, "Leave it."

"Why?" I wanted to know what would provoke him to hurt himself so much more than he could ever hurt me.

He backed away towards the truck as he told me darkly, "If I can't kill, I have to find some way to get it out."

Randy got back into the truck and I followed after him. My ass was still raw so I didn't bother to put my jeans back on. I still felt no fear for Randy as I got into the truck with him and let him drive me home.

I guess that's what love does: makes you forget when to fear.


	8. Eight: Alternate Manoverse

Eight: Alternate Manoverse

My ass was still a mess when I went to see Shawn.

"Who did this to you?!" he demanded to know as soon as he tugged my jeans down.

"It's okay, Shawn. I love him and I let him do it to me," I replied with a wry smile.

He just stared at me like I had to be lying. Shawn was one of the clients I trusted, so I added in confidence, "I wanted it, and I was glad to get it."

Shawn shook his head with confusion. I asked with concern, "Does it bother you? I could turn the lights out or something."

"No, it's just..." Shawn trailed off.

I could tell he was worried about me, so I reassured him, "I know how to handle myself. I won't let this get outta control."

"Well, I don't feel like doing this in your current condition. You can take your money and just come back next week like usual," Shawn told me.

He got out of bed before I could argue and left the room. He was pacing in front of his TV by the time I came out to meet him, again. I tried to deal with him, "What if I just go down on you or something? I hate to just leave like this."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Shawn said quickly, but I knew he wasn't.

He wouldn't look at me. I left the money where it was and tried to walk out, but Shawn grabbed the money, took my hand and slapped the cash into it. He locked eyes with me and stated, "I just don't want to see you hurt, John."

"I know, and I'm not."

Shawn still didn't believe me.

Leaving his apartment sent chills up my spine. I didn't dare glance over at the space in the parking lot where I was jumped by Cody Rhodes and his buddies. As far as Randy had told me, everyone involved had been dealt with, including Cody, but I was still nervous as hell.

I deliberately walked through the other side of the parking lot. I felt a presence behind me and jumped a little when I heard Randy's voice ask, "Why did he send you away?"

"I thought you usually spied on me," I joked over my shoulder.

He didn't immediately appear, so I turned around to face him. All I could see was darkness.

"Randy?" I asked the night.

He came up from behind me and put his arms around my waist. I linked my hands with his and he replied seriously to my joke, "Shawn is too timid to watch. He annoys the shit outta me."

"He's not timid, he's just...careful," I clarified.

Randy scoffed and replied, "Just another word for timid."

"I'm surprised. I thought you'd like him because he's the least threatening client I have at this point," I mentioned.

"True," Randy confirmed but didn't go on.

My cell phone buzzed with a new text message. I pulled it out and checked it while Randy read over my shoulder:

**FROM: HEYMAN**

**BARRINGTON HOTEL. RM 1185. GIRL WIT MUNEY. NOW.**

I snorted laughter when I recognized the spelling errors in Heyman's text. Man had sausage fingers. It was amazing he could even type.

"It says girl. I don't like that," Randy stated gruffly.

He didn't have a thing against girls, but he did have a thing with_ me_ being with girls. It was really rare that they ever called for us because there were numerous high roller establishments in the area that catered to women and frankly we're beneath them as far as the hierarchy of prostitution is concerned, but when Heyman did get a call like this one, he always sent them to me.

I had the looks but not necessarily the talent, as it were. I had no problem with women and I could get hard easy enough, but it gets so much more complicated than with men and I've never felt like I've really pleased a woman the way she wanted me to. Still, they never actually complained, so I figured I was doing something right.

"You're making that sour face you do when you're feeling awkward," Randy pointed out.

I tried to straighten up my expression as I asked, "I have a sour face?"

"Yeah. It's adorable," he sneaked a kiss to cheer me up.

He frowned as his mind went back to the thought of me with a girl client. I told him with a shrug, "It should be easy enough. I'll just let her ride me 'till she's done and I'll be on my way."

"I don't like that," Randy argued.

"Sorry, but _they_ like that," I shrugged.

* * *

Randy went into hiding as soon as I got to the hotel. I already felt kind of uneasy leaving Shawn unfulfilled, and adding a female client wasn't helping. I swallowed hard as the elevator took me up to the right room. I noticed right away that the place practically smelled like money and everything was too perfect to be real. The walls had real gold plating and I swore the lights were made of diamonds.

Heyman wasn't kidding when he said she had _muney._

I got to the right room and knocked on the door. I could hear a woman talking rapidly to someone else and I wondered if this were some husband-and-wife-and-let's-add-another scenario. I'd only been in one of those and it was clear 30 seconds in that the husband had no love for his wife and expected me to fuck her because he was too damn lazy.

The door flew open before I could try to leave and a beautiful but brawny woman with bleach blonde hair smiled broadly at me. Her ruby dress perfectly contrasted her pale skin as she rushed me inside and wailed, "Oh, wonderful! Just wonderful! I'm so glad you're here!"

She was obviously a diva. She wasn't exactly my ideal woman, but if I thought of Randy enough, I could do her.

"What's your name?" I asked, knowing she would give me an alias.

"Phoenix," she extended her hand in a ladylike way.

I took her hand and kissed it softly, bowing to her like a gentleman. She giggled coyly and I asked, "Where would you like me, Miss?"

She was old enough to giggle at being called Miss. With a wave of her hands, she told me straight up, "No, dear, you're not for me. I called you up here for my assistant, Miss A.J."

A tiny framed girl with a cute nose and a smile made of sunshine tiptoed into the room from an adjacent opening. She had a bunch of folders in her hands and she clutched them against her as she gave me a short wave and an awkward laugh.

It was clear to me that Miss Phoenix was trying to set up her assistant whether she liked it or not. I guessed mostly not.

"I'll be leaving you two. Payment in advance for you, dear," Miss Phoenix handed me a huge wad of cash and whispered quietly into my ear, "Rock her world, young man. Her pipes haven't been cleaned since high school, I swear it."

She took off out the door so fast, it took me a few seconds to realize she was actually gone. I turned my attention back to A.J., and she told me before I got a word out, "My name's April. You can just call me April."

She reached out to take my hand and I shook it easily. I asked her kindly, "So, _April_, do you really want to do this?"

Her face fell and she started to withdrawal as she stammered, "Well, I mean, not if you don't want to, I mean, she already paid you and this was her idea and..."

I realized too late my words came out wrong. I told her quickly, "No, no, no, it's not that I don't want to, darlin'! I just don't want to make you do something you don't wanna do."

She eased up some but she was still extremely tense as she replied, "I just, I have this...I..."

"A fantasy? I could do whatever you want...within legal limits," I shot her a reassuring smile.

She started to bite her nails and I could tell something was really bothering her about the whole thing. I asked sympathetically, "Is this your first time, darlin'?"

"No, it's not that," she started to tear up.

"Come on now, love, no tears. What can I do?" I helped her set her files down and pulled her into a hug.

I lifted her up so she could straddle my hips and look right into my eyes. She looked like she desperately wanted to get some, but she didn't seem to want it from me.

"I won't be offended if you want someone else. I have pictures of them on my phone if you wanna take a look," I offered.

Her face lit up but she instantly tried to repress it. It was a slight blow to my ego but I wanted this little lady to be happy and it felt wrong not to do what I could for her. It took her a while to get the words out, but she finally said, "Do you...do you know any...girls?"

She looked away like she thought I would judge her harshly for such a request. I blinked with surprise and said, "Yeah, I know one about your size. She looks Moroccan but she has a British accent. How cool is that?!"

April let out an airy laugh and relaxed when she realized I wasn't going to argue with her. I asked just to be sure, "You want me to call her up?"

"Yes, please," she beamed.

* * *

Layla was easy to find. We had been friends a long time, but it was rare we talked because she was too afraid of Randy. She didn't know Randy followed me, so she was happy to come up and help out with a client.

I gave Layla my entire fee, but she handed some back to me and whispered, "Heyman will expect something."

She was right. I pocketed what she left for me and Layla focused on April. They had an instant connection, but it took a couple of hours for anything to happen. I just sat at the foot of the bed and watched TV while Layla and April giggled and laughed together for so long, I actually thought I might fall asleep before the action started.

With men it was like: Sex. Done. Gone. Women had to socialize and tease and fool around and all that complicated shit. It was like watching a feature length film before Layla finally went down on April. I almost wanted to stand up and clap just for the honor of seeing it finally get done._ Jesus Christ._

I rolled over to face them and watched with curiosity as April went from light moans to deep groans of pleasure. Her face would contort and her hands would cover her face and then she would pull her own hair and her eyes would open wide only to close again as she kicked the bed with the backs of her ankles and arched her lower back and made more contorted expressions. It almost looked like she was experiencing a kind of horrific, torturous pain that could break her body all apart into pieces. Yet, there was a kind of intense eroticism coming from it all that defied logic and made me want to cum just by staring at it.

April jerked her head back and let out a loud moan of release. I half-expected Randy to burst in the door at that moment and yell, "I don't like that!"

He didn't, thank goodness, and I had to stifle my laughter. Even after everything, there was another half-hour of talking and sympathizing and hugging and kissing and good-byes before we were finally out of there. Layla could sense my irritation and she asked as soon as we were clear of the hotel, "Why did you even stick around?"

"I don't know, I guess I was bored," I shrugged.

"You wanted to watch. Admit it!" Layla teased me.

"Yeah, fine, whatever," I tried to brush it off, which threw her into a fit of laughter.

I glanced around but didn't catch sight of Randy. Layla went to her car and asked, "Want a ride?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied after looking around once more and finding no sign of Randy.

"What's the matter?" Layla asked while she drove me home.

"Nothing," I shook my head.

She didn't buy it. She asked me point blank, "You were looking for Randy back there, weren't you?"

I nodded and Layla became visibly tense. I reassured her, "I got jumped last week by some gay bashers, so he's just keeping an eye out for me."

Her eyes widened with shock as she eased up a little.

"Where do you think he is?" she asked after a short silence.

"Could you drop me off at Pelway Park? It's the place we first met. He usually goes there when he needs to think."

She parked half a block away and let me out. Layla glanced at the pitch black park and asked timidly, "You sure you'll find him in there?"

"I think so," I told her confidently.

As soon as she drove away, I felt my confidence slipping.

I wandered over to one corner of the park where I knew Randy would be. When I didn't see him there, I began to regret trying to find him.

I scanned my surroundings for any signs of people. The area was made up of middle-class Americans and most of them were still kind enough to give a stranger a ride if he showed some ID. I still had my license in my pocket, as well as some cash if I needed to give them some incentive.

Something across the street caught my eye. It was a little cottage house on the corner that had been for sale for as long as I could remember. It was so run down that no one had dared to buy it, but the for sale sign was gone and it looked like it was being remodeled. The outside only had half a layer of brick in the front and there was caution tape everywhere.

I walked across the street to take a closer look. I went around to the side of the house and noticed a light on near the back. I was surprised to see some of the caution tape had been pulled down around back and I wondered if the place had been vandalized.

The screen on the back door was open a little bit. I stopped and listened for the vandals, but I couldn't hear a thing and it appeared like they were already gone. I was too curious to stop myself as I opened the screen and walked in through the back to the kitchen area.

The door leading to the basement was wide open. I listened again but still couldn't hear anything, so I decided to venture downstairs and see how the foundation looked. The basement was dark and I could barely make out a light switch on the wall in the middle of the stairs. I slowly made my way down towards it and hoped the lights would actually work as I tried the switch.

A flash of light and a fuse blew.

_I saw someone._

Something's wrong.

He didn't look right. I wasn't given enough time to understand why, but I just knew he didn't look right.

His face was familiar, though. Someone I swore I recognized. Not a friend. Just someone I knew.

I just stood there. I thought he would call out to me. He didn't. I didn't even hear him moving.

_Is he dead?_

My brain was still trying to process the situation when I heard someone yell from the top of the stairs, "TRESSPASSER!"

I looked up, but all I could see was an outline of a well built man, and he was pointing a gun at me.


	9. 9: House and Home

9: House and Home

I slowly put my hands up and explained, "I'm not a vandal. I just grew up in the area and saw this house was sold and I wanted to take a look around."

The man immediately lowered his gun and asked, "John?"

I couldn't see him well enough to tell for sure, but his voice sounded familiar enough that I replied, "Yeah, Brock, it's me."

He started laughing and for a second I thought I had said the wrong name. Then he waived me up the stairs and asked, "What the hell are you doing down there? Come on up!"

I stepped lightly and kept all my focus on the stairs, not daring to take a second glance at the darkness of the basement where I saw the figure of a familiar man in the far corner. I had yet to identify him, and it wasn't clear yet if Brock even knew someone was down there, but I decided not to take my chances and play completely dumb.

He put his arm around me as soon as I got out of the basement and said with a laugh, "If I knew you were comin', I would've asked you to bring some food! I'm starvin'!"

I tried to act cool and repress the uneasiness inside. I replied smoothly, "Maybe we could go and grab something. Did you buy this house?"

He laughed again and shook his head, explaining, "No, I'm just hired security after the owner kept losing good materials to vandals. You're lucky you said something because he told me to shoot anyone on sight!"

I chuckled like it was no big deal and ignored how close I had come to death as I asked curiously, "So who is the owner?"

"Some big shot. I dunno, he's all rich and shit," Brock shrugged it off.

Then he looked at me more seriously and asked, "You didn't turn the light on to the basement, did you?"

His gaze was oddly intense. I shook my head and lied, "No, man. I mean, I was going to, but the fuse blew as soon as I hit the switch and I couldn't see a damn thing."

Brock stared at me a moment longer before his lips bent into an awkward grin and he replied, "That's why I asked. The wiring in this place is shit. Still needs to be replaced."

"Right, right," I thought it was too convenient an excuse.

Brock changed the subject by asking, "Well, it's late and I think I can close up the house for the night. You wanna pick something up and eat at my place?"

I knew what he was trying to do and I was still too busy trying to find Randy to care. I told Brock assertively, "Look, I've got someplace to be. We'll just have to take this up later."

Brock narrowed his eyes at me and countered, "If you don't wanna be around me, just say so, John. It's not like I don't notice you always have a reason not to spend time with me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Brock told me with a wave of his hand, "Save it."

He started to leave, so I followed after him. He locked the back door of the house and I followed him to his truck parked on the side. He was about to get in and I still had no clue how to find Randy, so I blurted the first thing that came to mind, "Let's go to my brother's night club!"

"Really?" Brock's eyes widened with a mix of shock and awe.

"Why not? You're a bodyguard, right? He gives free drinks to anyone with real muscle," I tried to sweeten the deal.

Brock got in and patted the driver's seat, telling me with a huge smile, "Hop in!"

I rushed to get into the truck and I was glad when we pulled away. It still hadn't hit me who was down in that basement, but I had the gut instinct Brock knew about it, and if someone rich owned it, that meant that it would probably be covered up before I could find out the truth.

* * *

Matt's night club was crawling with people. He had asked me to be an escort for some of his high paying regulars later in the week, so his eyes widened with surprise when he saw me walking in a few days ahead of schedule with a man who resembled X-Men's Juggernaut.

"Johnny!" Matt gave me a quick pat on the back to make Brock think we were really close.

He loved to acquaint himself with guys he could pay to keep away loan sharks.

"This is Brock Lesnar. Brock, this is my brother, Matt Hardy," I introduced them.

"Hardy?" Brock was confused that our last names were different.

"I used to be a Cena, too. I changed it for effect," Matt chuckled at his own joke.

Brock pulled out a fist full of cash, and his fist was giant enough to hold a couple thousand dollars easy. He handed it to Matt and stated, "John and I want a private VIP room where we can still see the dance floor. Bring us the expensive liquor."

Matt quickly stashed the money in his pockets and replied, "How much liquor you want?"

"Get as much as it takes to make a normal guy shit faced drunk, and triple it," Brock commanded.

Matt took me by the shoulder and led me along while Brock followed us to the VIP rooms. There was one reserved for A-list celebrities shaped like a sphere with tinted glass so they could look out at the people on all sides, but the people on the outside couldn't see into the sphere. As soon as Brock and I sat down, Matt took off to get our drinks. Brock stretched his arm over the booth and conveniently held his hand on my right shoulder while he stared out at the people on the dance floor in silence. I figured he was waiting for our drinks so he could make a move later and if I objected to it, he could make the excuse that he was too drunk to know better. Sly bastard.

"So where's Randy, tonight?" Brock's question caught me off-guard.

"Oh, I dunno, probably with a client," I shrugged.

A gorgeous little lady came in and set our drinks on the table. Brock paid her with a wad of cash from his other pocket and she huddled it away in her blouse with greedy eyes before disappearing out the door. Brock took a smaller green bottle and downed it like it was just water before he asked, "You know, I don't think he likes me very much."

"He doesn't like anybody," I reminded Brock.

He took another thin red bottle and downed it the same way as the green bottle. He reached for a dark blue one that was rounded out and had a bit more liquor in it, then he handed it to me and asked, "Drink?"

"I'm just a beer guy, really," I answered honestly.

Brock's grip on my shoulder tightened and I could tell I was grating on his nerves again. I sighed and took the bottle, mentioning, "Well, blue _is_ my favorite color."

He relaxed and I took a swig of the blue bottle. It tasted horrible and I had to force myself to swallow what was in my mouth. Brock laughed at my odd expression and took the bottle from me, drinking the rest of it like he didn't taste it at all.

"Do you like me, John?" Brock asked after he had downed two more green bottles.

"Yeah, I do," I answered with a smile.

He slowly shook his head at me and said, "No, I mean, do you _really _like me? I mean, the way I like you."

"I don't know. I mean, I don't really think about relationships on those terms," I told him honestly.

He frowned like he thought I was lying to confuse him. He took a small brown bottle off the table and told me, "Drink this."

My stomach was still churning from the blue bottle's contents, so I said politely, "No thanks, Brock. You drink it."

He put the bottle down and said, "Come here."

Brock grasped my chin with three of his fingers and used his strength to pull me closer. He pressed his lips to mine and gave me a surprisingly gentle kiss. I didn't mind it until the last second when he suddenly burped liquor and salmon breath right into my mouth.

I pulled away and coughed, arguing, "Brock, that was so fucking gross!"

"Sorry, sorry," he said, but he was laughing the whole time.

Brock was usually very sweet to me, but tonight I was seeing a totally different side of him and I didn't like it. I got up to leave and said, "I'm outta here."

I reached for the door handle and I was about to turn it when Brock called from behind me, "You saw the body, didn't you?"

I stopped cold and slowly turned back to face him. He just grinned at me like the little boy playing with fire. I asked him quietly, "What's going on?"

Brock's gaze softened and he said, "Come home with me and I'll tell you everything."

I wanted to know the truth bad enough that I really would've done it, but I didn't want Brock to see what Randy had done to my ass and cause an even bigger shit storm, so I replied morosely, "I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't tonight."

Brock stared at me in disbelief and stated, "Fine. Go on, then!"

He turned his attention back to the dance floor like I wasn't even there. I hated to do it, but I had to ask, "Would you please give me a ride home? I'll pay you gas money if you want."

I didn't think he would respond at all, but Brock did turn to face me and said with a nod, "Yeah, fine."

He got up and I followed him out of the club. Matt tried to catch up with us, but Brock gave him such a death glare that Matt immediately backed off. I was kind of glad because I didn't want to talk to Matt at the moment.

As soon as we got outside, I told Brock, "Thank you for-"

Something hard slammed into the back of my head. I heard Brock yell, "John!"

Then I blacked out.


	10. Ten: Perception

Ten: Perception

I woke up in darkness. I could smell mold and the dirt underneath me was wet. It took me a few seconds to realize that my hands were tied behind my back and my mouth was sealed with duct tape.

I groaned as I felt a dull pain on the back of my head. I figured I had been out for a while, and my t-shirt was gone.

My thoughts wandered to what could've happened while I was out. I wouldn't put it past Brock to cop a feel or even tease me a little while he rubbed one out for himself. He wanted me so badly, he'd probably stoop to that level.

I could hear his voice coming from somewhere above me. It was muffled and someone else was talking back to him, but their voice wasn't familiar to me. I was on my side and I started to sit up, but I felt some weight drop beside me and I turned to face it.

Dolph Ziggler.

It suddenly made sense to me whom the person was that I saw in the basement just before the lights went out and Brock found me.

Ziggler was lying next to me with his hands tied behind his back, but the cold stare coming from his eyes told me he had been dead a long time.

I wanted to scream, but I didn't want to alert Brock and the person with him that I was awake. I stifled any fear I had and tried to stand up on my feet. The basement floor was muddy and I kept sliding back down.

"...IS HE OUT THERE?!" the unfamiliar voice shouted at Brock from upstairs.

Brock said something to the effect, "He wasn't," and the voice went quiet, again. I closed my eyes and prayed that Randy would find me and this could all be over.

"...knew about you?" the unfamiliar voice asked something of Brock.

Brock sounded like he was offended as he argued, "Not on your life!"

A chuckle escaped the lips of the unfamiliar voice. I suddenly remembered that Cody Rhodes had chuckled when we confronted him on campus.

I couldn't make sense of what was happening. Randy had assured me that Cody was not a threat anymore. How could he be upstairs and talking to Brock?

I glanced over at Ziggler. He was hard to see in the darkness, but there was some light coming in from a small basement window and it illuminated him enough for me to confirm that there were no visible signs he had been murdered.

What was he doing down here, then?

The basement window creaked and I saw Randy coming in feet-first through it. I gasped and held my breath as he quietly leaped down to the muddy floor and came over to get me.

He pulled the duct tape off of my mouth with one flick of his wrist. I started to cry out, but his lips latched onto mine in a passionate kiss and my screamed were drowned by his warm tongue sliding down my throat. He continued the kiss for almost a minute before he pulled away and asked me in a whisper, "Wanna get out of here?"

"Yes, please," I answered with a grateful nod.

Randy pulled the buck knife out of his jeans and instructed me, "You're going to follow me up the stairs, and then you're going to walk out the back door. You're not going to look back or I'll cut your eyes out, do you understand?"

I nodded. This time, I had no desire to stop him from killing.

He started to get up, but I felt the need to call him back down, "Randy?"

He didn't respond, but waited for me to tell him, "I took Brock to Matt's club and Brock tried to get me drunk so we could fool around. When I told him I wanted to leave, someone knocked me the hell out. I had a shirt on before and I think Brock did some things to me before he dumped me down here."

"Did he hurt you?" Randy's gray eyes demanded to know.

"No, I don't think so. I just feel like...like he did something," I couldn't quite explain it.

That was enough proof for Randy and he nodded that he understood. He cut my restraints and I followed him up the stairs just like he asked. He kicked the basement door open and I ran out the back door as soon as I saw him take a right through the kitchen to find Brock.

I didn't want to be there to watch Lesnar die.

I stood in the backyard, fearful to go anywhere else in case there were other predators around. I heard someone cry out, followed by Brock screaming, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Every sound was drowned out by repeated squishing and slicing. I thought I heard Randy take down at least two people, but he was taking a lot of time, which made me think there could've been more.

I didn't dare move. I didn't even breathe. I just wanted it to be over so I could go home with Randy.

He came out moments later and took me to his truck. He drove us home in silence. It was so late, no one noticed Randy was covered in blood. I followed him back up to the apartment and he headed straight for the bathroom. He took off his clothes and threw them on the floor of the standing shower, then he watched me take my clothes off and I tossed mine in a pile by the door.

Randy took me by the wrists and pulled me into the shower with him. We made out for a long time and I kept glancing down and seeing blood washing down the drain from Randy's body. Some of the blood was coming from the back of my legs, and I wondered if the wound on my head was worse than I thought.

I felt Randy press his hands against my ass and I groaned. My cheeks were still somewhat raw from the pleasure-filled whipping he gave me just a few nights earlier, and I couldn't help smiling when I thought about it. Randy pressed his lips to my ear and asked, "You think I'd hurt you if we fucked?"

"I don't know. Not sure that I care," I replied.

Randy turned me around and I leaned up against the shower wall. I waited for him to come in, but instead, he got down on his knees and started sucking my hole in back while he brought his hand underneath and massaged me in front.

It felt indescribably good and I started moaning more loudly than I usually did. Randy's suction continued while he used his other free hand to squeeze the right side of my ass, which inspired the pain to mix with the pleasure and my moans got even louder.

An odd sensation rushed over me. I felt like we were being watched even as the pleasure continued to rise.

"Stop...wait..." I was trying to get Randy's attention, but I couldn't.

My feet felt ice cold. I looked down at them and I could still see blood going down the drain.

_It wasn't blood rinsing off of Randy, anymore. The blood was coming from me._

"Help!" I heard myself shout just before opening my eyes.

"Johnny? John, what's wrong?" Brock asked from behind me.

I was still groggy and nothing around me was making sense. I could see shelves and a fridge and an oven, but it took me a few seconds to recognize I was in a kitchen.

"John? John, you okay?" Brock gently put his hand on my shoulder and slowly turned me around to face him.

There were lights on behind him and I could easily make out that he was naked. Brock had a look of panic in his eyes like he wasn't sure how to approach me. I looked down and realized that I was also naked, and my backside felt like I had just been through a rough round of sex.

"What did you do to me?! Why am I here?!" I started in on Brock.

The images of the dream I just had came flooding back, including the belief that Brock had done something to me after someone hit me over the head and knocked me out.

Brock furiously shook his head and tried to explain, "You've got it all wrong, Johnny! You took me to your brother's club and then you said you wanted to go home! We went outside and some bozo hit you on the head and took off! I took you back into the club and you came to and started raving about Dolph Ziggler and I gave you some drinks to calm you down. You decided to come back to my place and you took your clothes off and I freaked out when I saw your ass, but you said it was nothing and then all you wanted to do was fuck so I ran with it!"

His story sounded too crazy to be a lie. I asked him just to be sure, "What happened next? Why don't I remember anything?"

Brock shrugged and answered, "You passed out a few hours ago. I thought you were dead asleep, so I went to my room and left you on the couch, then the next thing I know, you're moaning and screaming for help in my kitchen and you're walking around with this glazed look in your eyes!"

He looked at me like he knew why I had the glazed look. Everyone I'd ever spent the night with knew that I was a sleepwalker. The only time I didn't have an episode was when I was sleeping with Randy.

"Where's Randy? Why isn't he here?!" I argued.

Lesnar let his head hang like he hoped I wouldn't ask that question and answered somberly, "You told me to call him, but when you passed out I figured I could do it, later. When I found you wandering in the kitchen I made the call, but it might be a few minutes before he gets here."

Brock seemed to be nothing but honest with me, but I was embarrassed and I wanted to take it out on him. I told him brashly, "You should've known not to fuck me with my ass all bruised up!"

He took a step back and winced like my biting words hit him hard. He replied quietly, "I didn't want to. I offered to suck on your asshole instead, but you told me that was a dumb shit thing to say."

"Yeah, well, I have a habit of being rude to guys when I'm drunk," I mentioned more calmly.

Brock let out a short laugh like I had said other rude things to him besides that and it all made sense now, but he quickly went back to being serious as he asked, "Why were you calling for help? Are you afraid of me?"

"No. I don't know why I was calling for help," I answered honestly.

There was a soft knock at the door and I told Brock even as he went to answer it, "That's Randy."

Brock quickly opened the door and stepped aside to let Randy in. I didn't look at him as I went to find my clothes scattered around the couch. Brock tried to break the awkward silence with, "He's okay, now. He woke up just after you hung up on me."

Randy snorted at him and replied darkly, "You should've called me sooner."

"Sorry about that," Brock meant the remark to be for me.

I zipped up and asked Brock just before I left, "Did you see the guy who hit me over the head?"

Randy visibly tensed beside me, and I realized he didn't know that part of the story. Brock glanced at Randy and swallowed hard before looking back at me and saying with a shrug, "He was just some guy with spiked hair and a leather jacket. He looked like he was trying to be awesome or something but he kinda just looked like a dick."

"Thanks, man," I gave Brock a quick kiss good-bye and walked out the door.

Randy was silent until we were back at his truck. The sunrise was just peeking up above the city and it looked to be a beautiful day.

"I have to tell you something," Randy stated.

"If it's about Brock, I know it was stupid that I slept with him. I don't even know why I did, I just-"

"Cody escaped. I don't know where he is," Randy confessed.

I didn't know what was worse: knowing the man who tried to kill me was still out there, or knowing the man I loved more than life itself could be caught and put to death for attempted murder.


	11. 11: Days To

11: Days To Cum

Randy made sure I took the next few days off.

It was nice because I had time to let my ass heal up before any dangerous clients like Otunga saw it. I had no clue what Randy said to Heyman to get me a few days off twice in a row, but it must've been damn good, because I knew he'd never do it for anyone else. I stayed away from the other escorts for exactly that reason. If they were jealous enough, they'd start trouble, and I really didn't need more at this point.

I stayed in our apartment, and Randy stayed with me. He paced around like a caged animal. I don't know if he ever slept. He had a furious look in his eyes, but it wasn't directed at me. He was more angry with himself for letting Cody escape. He would stare out the window as if he would catch Cody coming up the walkway. He was so close to me, yet he wouldn't touch me. I never thought he would hurt me, but something like this had never happened before. He was so angry, I think he was afraid of what he might do.

"You want something to eat?" I asked him one morning while making pancakes.

"No," he said thickly, staring out the window wearing only a pair of jeans so his muscular upper body looked extremely defined.

The dawn was just rising and it cascading the apartment in an almost blindingly beautiful yellow light. With Randy standing in the window, he appeared like the only darkness in that light.

"You sure? I'm making them with blueberries," I knew they were his favorite.

"No," he said more strongly.

The days were passing by too fast. I was bored and kinda horny. I wanted to get his attention and distract him from our problems, if even for a moment.

I set the spatula down and slowly took my shirt off. I made it a point to groan a little while I did it, then I tossed my t-shirt aside and stretched my arms out as high as I could, groaning a little louder with each strain. I casually went back to the pancakes and made a sideways glance at Randy.

He was still staring out the fucking window. Fuckballs.

I still didn't want to be too obvious, but I was getting desperate, so I unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor, saying idly, "It's so hot in here."

Randy didn't respond. I let out another groan, this time in frustration, and Randy finally noticed. He turned to face me and asked dryly, "Are you jerking off over there?"

"No," I acted surprised, although I had considered it just to get his attention.

I hoped he would come over to me, but he turned back to stare out the window again. _Fuck._

I was frustrated as I grabbed the spatula and turned the pancakes over. I turned the last one a little too fast and splattered some oil on my arm.

"Ow! Fuck!" I shouted, taking a big step back.

"What the fuck are you doing over there?!" Randy came rushing over.

He turned the stove off and took the pan off, tossing it in the sink. I yelled at him angrily, "Why did you do that?! I was going to eat those!"

"I'll buy you something from the corner store," Randy stated.

He stared at my arm but he still wouldn't touch me. He turned on the faucet and waited for me to put my arm under the cold water, but I defied him and stayed where I was. He took a big step closer, but I still wouldn't move. I could see the fury in his eyes as it boiled over and consumed him. He clenched his fists and screamed at me like a wild animal, but I showed no fear when faced with the killer inside.

Randy grabbed me roughly by the arm and forced me over to the sink. He put my arm under the water and held it there, his grip so strong that I could feel my skin tingling beneath his fingers. He used his other arm to hold me around the waist so that I wouldn't try to pull away, then he pressed himself up against me from behind to make himself like a wall that I could never push through.

I thought I may have pushed him too far. Then I felt his erection pushing through his jeans and up against my boxers. Every time we had ever fucked, it was Randy who had initiated it, and it was always _he _who aroused _me_. This was the first time in known memory that I had ever fully aroused him, and I fucking loved it.

"That's enough, my arm is cold," I told him when he didn't let up.

He immediately let go and turned the faucet off, then he whirled me around to face him and shoved me up against the kitchen counter. His eyes were wild as they met mine and I could tell that a million dirty and probably violent thoughts were racing through his mind. I didn't know which one he would choose, so I decided to make a suggestion to keep his interest.

"Blindfold me," I moaned.

He blinked with surprise as he processed the words, then he took the initiative and reached for a nearby drawer that had wash rags in it. He yanked it open with such force, one of the wheels broke off and the drawer flew completely out of its place. Most of the rags fell on the floor, but there were still some left as Randy slammed the drawer onto the counter and pulled out a single rag to wrap around my eyes.

Randy turned me around to face away from him again and tied the ends of the rag together. The knot was a little too uncomfortable, so I told him, "Not so tight, please."

I didn't expect him to react so quickly, but he was able to undo the knot and remake it with the skill of an expert. It made me wonder how many times he had to tie knots on people to be so good at it.

The rag was white, so it didn't completely shroud me in darkness, but it was still exciting to wonder what Randy was up to. He whirled me around once more and I heard him rip something out of the wall. He was still close so I assumed it was the phone cord that was nearby. My assumption was confirmed when I felt him wrap the phone cord around my left wrist, securing it with another skillful knot, then he wrapped the cord around his back and tied the other end to my right wrist.

Now I was tied to him, and there truly was no escape.

He fastened his lips to mine in a passionate embrace. It was so strong that his lips almost felt like needles pricking into mine; trying to sew my mouth shut. I reached around the small of his back and dug my nails into his skin. He let go of my lips for a moment to let out a low growl of passionate rage, then I felt him take the edge of my boxers and he ripped them completely off with one quick flick of his wrist.

Randy grabbed my ass and squeezed hard enough to make me groan with a mix of pleasure and pain. He pulled me up and with my wrists tied down, I had to wrap my legs around his hips for support. He propped me up on the counter at an angle and I heard him reach around me for something in the far corner. I remembered I had put some of that KY stuff there a few weeks ago and it worked out conveniently for our impromptu hookup as Randy squirted some into his hand and lubed himself up with it.

I tried to relax the best I could, but I thought Randy would be more rough with me than usual this time and I couldn't help tensing up as I felt him start to push his way inside. The lube worked perfectly and he came in smoothly. What surprised me the most was that he started grinding instead of thrusting, and he was going as softly as Punk did to me at the beach house.

Randy and I hadn't fucked since before then, and I was reminded that Randy had said he was watching me the whole time Punk had held me captive. He also seemed curious to know how Punk had been able to make me cum by doing the opposite of what Randy did, and now it was clear to me that Randy wanted to imitate Punk's actions to gain the same effect.

"You don't have to do it like him," I whispered.

I felt Randy's breath on my face as he came close and told me thickly, "I want to. I saw how much you liked it and _I _want to be the one to give it to you."

"It's still good. The way that you do it, it's different but it's still good," I reassured him.

"I wanna give you more," he argued, taking the speed of his grinding up a notch.

Randy was making it feel so good, I couldn't say anything more. I let my head fall back and made long, low groans while Randy grazed his tongue across my throat. I heard him grunt like he was enjoying the new motion as much as I was, then he suddenly and violently tore away the blindfold and locked his eyes with mine.

His gray irises were conflicted. I could see that he was highly aroused but the need to be violent was still very much with him. The sex wasn't enough to override his instincts, so he picked up his left fist and slammed it repeatedly against the counter until I heard the bones of his knuckles crack. I felt some of the blood from his fist splatter onto my right side, and Randy groaned as he licked it off of me like it drove him completely wild.

Randy picked up his right fist and I thought he was going to do the same thing to it. I clutched his shoulders to stop him and begged, "Please don't hurt yourself anymore. Hurt me if you need to, hurt _me_."

I couldn't bear to see him break his hands and himself just so he could maintain Punk's softer way of sex to appeal to me. Randy shook his head and stated, "I would _never_ hurt you."

I didn't realize we had stopped for almost a minute. We were staring so deeply into each other's eyes that it was hard to let go and say, "Get your knife."

"What?" Randy's eyes widened with surprise.

"Get your knife. Hold it against my skin. Fuck me like Punk but keep acting like _you_," I told him.

He started to argue with me, "What if I cut into-"

"You won't. I know you won't," I stated.

He leaned down and kissed me, but this time it was soft, like he was grateful I understood him so well. Randy pulled the knot on my right wrist to loosen it so he could let me go, then he pulled out and went to find his signature buck knife.

I sat up on the counter and looked for the blindfold. I found it still tied in one piece by the sink. I picked it up and put it back on, thinking it would make things even more exciting. I listened while I waited, hearing Randy open the door to our closet as he shuffled around to find his knife.

There was a soft thud and I thought it was his duffel bag at the bottom of the closet. I heard his footsteps coming back towards me and I was anxious to get started again. I waited for him to come close, then I felt the tip of his knife brush against my right kidney area.

Something was wrong. The knife felt threatening against my skin. Something instinctual inside of me rose up as the knife grazed my abdomen and went over to my left kidney area, then the cold blade drew a line back to my right kidney once more. The sensation was calculated and intelligent, yet menacing and evil.

"Cody," I said, feeling the same survival instinct kick in as when he tried to beat me to death.

Then I felt the knife plunge into my gut.


	12. Twelve: Delerium

Twelve: Delerium

I cried out in agony and shoved Cody away from me as hard as I could. He let go of the knife and I could feel it still lodged in my right kidney as I ripped the blindfold off and freed myself from the phone cord still wrapped around my left wrist. I looked down and saw my own blood trailing down my right leg. My mind instantly silenced and I was suddenly suspended between time and space, seeing the whole thing in an almost comical way because it was too horrific to be real.

Cody was on the floor and he just started laughing hysterically. I was afraid pulling Randy's knife out of my kidney would cause more damage, so I opened a nearby drawer and pulled out one of my old steak knives. The handle was kind of loose, but it was the most useful thing I had for self-defense.

"What you got there?" Cody taunted me as he rose slowly to his feet.

His eyes were devoid of emotion. He stood hunched forward like a wild animal, believing that I was nothing more than his prey and even with a weapon I couldn't outmatch him. What frightened me the most was that he appeared to be indifferent to the possibility that he could lose, and death scared him no more than a common housefly.

That meant he had no reason to stop, and I had no leverage to make him stop.

Cody came at me and I barreled into him with all the upper body strength I had. Adrenaline had kicked in and I hardly felt the knife in my kidney anymore as my survival instinct tried desperately to keep me alive. I managed to slam Cody against the floor and pinned his arms down in a makeshift wrestling hold using my knees. I only had seconds to gain the upper hand, so I put the steak knife against his throat and he instantly stopped struggling.

His cold eyes continued to show no sign of emotion as he asked blankly, "You want to end me, John? Do it. Do it, now."

Cody's voice was mocking, yet it seemed like he almost wanted me to take his life the way he took so many others and complete the cycle he could never stop on his own. For a split second, I wanted nothing more than to see him dead, and I even took a moment to imagine myself slitting his throat, but that's all it was. Imaginary.

I was not a killer, and I never wanted to be.

Cody watched my hesitation with the curiosity of a child trying to understand why the behaviors of others don't always match his own. He asked me smoothly, "What's the hold up? Would it help if you knew I killed your friend Mr. Ziggler and hired your macho fuck buddy Brock Lesnar to keep watch over his body in the basement of a house in your old neighborhood?"

He smiled wickedly as I made the connection of the body I saw in the basement of the house being renovated where I ran into Lesnar a few days earlier. The dream I had after being with Lesnar showed me it was Dolph in the basement, but I didn't want to believe it until now. I hadn't made any contact with the others since then, so there was no way I could've known Dolph was even missing.

What shocked me the most was that Lesnar would've had to have known Dolph was dead, and yet he made no mention of it to me. All he cared about that night was getting into my pants.

"Fuck me," I breathed, completely stunned.

"Gladly," Cody replied mockingly, grabbing the buck knife lodged in my kidney and twisting it.

The pain was overwhelming and I screamed so loud, I thought my vocal cords had shattered. Cody kicked me in the stomach to get me off of him and I fell back against the kitchen drawers, losing my steak knife in the process. I didn't realize until Cody started for me that he had pulled out Randy's buck knife while I was falling back and he was about to use it to stab me to death.

Randy came from out of nowhere and wrapped his leather belt around Cody's throat. I could see blood running down Randy's chest from a gaping wound in his neck that Cody must've inflicted to try and keep him down before coming for me.

I'd seen graphic films where someone got choked to death before, but this was far more violent and disgusting. Randy literally lifted Cody off of his feet and dragged him a few yards away from me, causing Cody to drop the buck knife so it landed almost right in front of me. They both collapsed to their knees and the whole thing became morbidly erotic as Randy kept his belt around Cody's throat while seething into his ear. Strands of Randy's saliva dripped from his lips and down the side of Cody's face. Cody's skin went from red to purple and his eyes went bloodshot as the last moments of his life left him.

Cody still registered no real emotion beyond a grin that mocked the irony of the situation as he tried to laugh between struggled gasps for air. The only emotion Randy displayed was complete and utter rage as he reached for the steak knife that had fallen to the floor nearby and slammed it so hard through Cody's ribcage, the handle broke off and the other edge of the knife impaled Randy's hand.

I watched something leave Cody's eyes, but I wasn't sure it was really life. His body went limp and Randy shoved him aside like a rag doll, letting Cody's head bounce off a stray open drawer before landing with a thud on the floor. Randy glanced at the stab wound in the palm of his hand and sighed like it was only a minor issue. He paid no attention at all to the still bleeding wound on his neck as he slowly crawled over to me and said calmly, "Come here, John."

He reached out to me with an expression like nothing was amiss. My voice was only a whisper as I repeated, "You killed him, you killed him..."

"Yes, I did, but I'm not going to kill you," he reassured me.

I became confused. He motioned downward with his eyes and I followed his gaze. I realized I was gripping the buck knife like I was going to attack. Even as I knew the threat was over, I couldn't bring myself to drop the knife.

"Come on, John. We need to go to the hospital," Randy told me calmly.

He reached past the buck knife to take hold of my wrists. His grip was soft and he was trying to ease me up to my feet. I started to physically shake as I stuttered, "I'm so scared...Randy, I-I can't move..."

"Yes, you can. You're just in shock," Randy replied softly.

He managed to get me to my feet. I locked my eyes with his and I struggled to process everything as I said, "Randy, you...you killed him..."

He nodded and stated seriously, "He was going to kill you. I couldn't let that happen."

"I know what you are. I mean...I knew it, but I never...I never..." I had no idea what I was trying to say.

Randy understood anyway and replied simply, "I take the lives of those who don't deserve to live, but sometimes I have trouble keeping myself under control when life seems to pointless so me, anyway. You're the only life I can't stand to lose. You make me want to believe that my life isn't pointless. If you ever had any doubts, now you know what you truly mean to me."


	13. 13: The Extreme of Nonsense

13: The Extreme of Nonsense

I woke up in a hospital room. It was all painted white and it would've been bright if the sun were shining through the window, but I looked to see that it was the darkness of night outside and I felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach.

A big part of me wanted to think the last moments I remembered with Cody were not real. I wanted it to be one of my many graphically vivid dreams that I only had when I was sleepwalking. I wanted to believe that Randy would wake me up and all would be well and we could just fuck like normal and get on with the day.

But it was real. All too real. The numbness around my right kidney area told me so.

I didn't realize Randy was sitting by my bed and holding my right hand until he squeezed it. My eyes drifted over to him and I was amazed to see that his face was stained with tears. He had stitches on his neck where I had seen the bleeding gash, but he was still in jeans and wearing a wrinkled gray t-shirt, which made me think he had not allowed the nurses to treat his wounds as seriously as mine.

I had never seen Randy cry before and I was stunned as I asked quietly, "What...what happened?"

"You were in surgery for six hours. They told me you probably wouldn't make it. I don't believe in God, but if you say he was the one who saved you, I'll be thanking him for the rest of my life," Randy started to tear up again.

There were times where I used to wonder what Randy looked like just being human like the rest of us. Now that I had finally seen it...the whole thing kinda freaked me out.

"Thank you for saving my life again," I smiled weakly at him.

He reached down with his free hand and turned one corner of the blanket covering me so he could lift up my gown just enough to show me the damage. It wasn't all that exciting except that there was a long surgical scar where Cody had stabbed me and it had been closed up with huge black stitches. The skin around the stitches was swollen and discolored from that weird brown stuff that looks like wood stain. I had no idea what the brown stuff was called, but I assumed it was important or they wouldn't slap it on there.

"It's sickening," I had to look away to avoid throwing up.

I felt kind of self-conscious with Randy right there staring at it, but his eyes conveyed nothing beyond sheer attraction as he lightly grazed his fingertips over the stitches and leaned down with a kind of reverence as he softly kissed the wound with his bare lips.

The area was numb until he kissed it. I felt a raw but warm tingling sensation that traveled up to my brain. I croaked with a sigh, "This would be so romantic if I didn't have an oxygen tube stuck up my nose and a bedpan underneath me right now."

A short chuckle escaped Randy's lips and I felt the vibration against my stitched skin. I groaned and Randy lifted his head to ask, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's okay. It's more than okay. I wish we could fuck right now," I told him honestly.

I thought no one was around to overhear us, so I could get away with saying anything. I heard a soft knock at the door and I instantly tensed up, but I relaxed when the door swung open and Punk peeked in with a bundle of red and blue balloons in his hands.

"Phil!" I blurted with a mix of joy and surprise.

Randy glared at me and I realized I had used Punk's real name and it sounded more intimate than I intended it to. Randy quickly tried to send Punk away, whipping his head around to argue, "Visiting hours are over, fuckweed!"

"Oh yeah? Wonder if they know you're in here, huh? And I'll bet you told 'em you're family!" Punk shot back.

"He's my kid brother from another mother!" Randy bobbed his head back and forth to mock Punk.

I didn't want to see Randy choke someone else to death, so I intervened by asking calmly, "Punk, why are you here?"

He jumped at the chance to explain, "I was still worried that Cody would come after you, so I paid some friends around town to keep an eye out in case your name showed up anywhere. They told me you were here so I came as quick as I heard."

"How'd you know I'd be at this hospital? There are like, a thousand in L.A.!" I pointed out.

Punk said with a shrug, "I paid them to check up on every hospital."

I realized at that moment that I had severely underestimated how far Punk was willing to go to keep me safe. He was just as extreme as Randy, but how he showed it was on the opposite end of the spectrum.

"I brought you these. I know it's corny but the gift shop was closing and it only had balloons or flowers and fruit cake, and the latter seemed kinda condescending given the circumstances," Punk held the balloons out while he spoke.

Punk was trying to get me to talk to him alone. I was feeling hungry, so I asked Randy, "Would you get me something to eat? I don't care if it's from the cafeteria or the candy machines."

Surprisingly, Randy didn't argue with me. He stood up and said, "Alright," then Randy leaned in and kissed my forehead, taking longer than he needed to before pulling back and taking his leave.

Punk was aware the kiss was meant to make him jealous and he seethed at Randy as they crossed paths. Once Randy was gone, Punk came over and tied the balloons to the bedside table, asking me quietly, "Is he still listening?"

"Probably," I replied honestly.

With a harsh sigh, Punk asked seriously about Randy, "Did _he_ do this to you?"

"No, Cody did," I gave him as little detail as possible.

Punk's eyes widened with horror and rage, but he calmed himself down quickly so he could ask, "Did Randy stop him?"

"Yeah. For good," I saw the question in Punk's eyes before he asked it.

Punk glanced down at my stitches and bit his lower lip as if he felt more pain from it than I did. I could tell he wanted so badly to touch me, but he knew he no longer had that right.

"I came here to say I'm sorry for trying to take you from Randy. I know that was wrong now and I appreciate that you didn't let him kill me," Punk struggled not to show the fear in his voice when he mentioned Randy, but I could still hear it.

Punk swallowed hard and went on, "I know that you're still angry with me and you have every right to be, but I don't want this to be the end of our friendship. I miss seeing you every week. I miss talking to you and telling you how I really feel about things. I know I don't deserve you, but want to ask you to please keep coming to our appointments-"

"I'm not doing that," I cut him off.

He let out a short sigh like he knew I would say that, then he tried to argue, "I thought you said I was one of your best clients-"

"You kidnapped me and put a gun to my head! You handcuffed me to a bed! Do you think I just forgot about all that?" I vented at him.

I tried not to get too excited so my heart monitor wouldn't start beeping rapidly and alert the nurses. Punk could still hear the anger in my voice as he tried bargaining instead, "I already pay you triple your going rate, but I'll put double on top of that-"

"This is not about money!" I cut him off yet again.

My constant interjections were making him mad, so this time he yelled, "And this is not about sex!"

I blinked with surprise. Punk leaned into me and quietly explained, "I still love you, John Cena, and I always will, but I know I fucked up and for that I should never be allowed to touch you again. But you need to understand that it is too rare that I like somebody and want to spend time with them, and I want to keep spending time with you, John. Keep coming to our appointments and keep reminding me why it's important that I continue living my menial existence—even if it's not during sex anymore—and the time will still be well spent, in my opinion."

For the first time in my life, someone actually wanted to spend time with me without asking for anything in return. I didn't really know how to handle the situation or what to say to Punk. He glanced back over his shoulder like he heard Randy returning, then Punk looked back at me and said, "They told me you had surgery and you'd be here a few days. Your records show you'll have to have some checkups and you'll need prescriptions over the next six months."

"Thanks for telling me. I'll handle it," I nodded.

"No need," Punk turned to leave and added over his shoulder, "I've already paid for all of your care in advance. Your prescriptions are filled just down the street."

"You didn't have to do that," I started, but he was already gone.

Randy stepped back in seconds later and asked, "Are you planning on still seeing him?"

"I dunno. Our appointments are on Tuesdays and that's only four days away. I don't know if I'll even be out of here by then, much less healed up enough to go see him," I said.

"He said it wasn't about sex, so you don't have to be healed," Randy pointed out.

I shook my head and clarified, "That's not what I'm worried about. I just don't trust him enough to be weak around him ever again."

* * *

The next several days passed like a blur.

While I was in the hospital recovering, Randy had disposed of Cody's body. I asked where Randy put him, but he wouldn't tell me. All he said was, "The police will find him...eventually."

"Will his family ever know he was a serial killer?" I asked, feeling sympathetic to them.

"If anyone knows about it, it'll just be swept under the rug. The media doesn't want a story about a killer who killed another killer. The bigger story is about the handsome young frat boy with a bright future ahead of him who was gruesomely murdered by some unknown super evil!"

He shifted his eyes and waved his hands in mock fear to exaggerate people's reactions to the news. I laughed because I knew it was exactly how people _would_ react.

Randy passed off our wounds to the doctors and nurses with a story that an intruder had broken in and we caught him in the act, then he attacked us before getting away. The police even questioned me, but I told them I didn't get a good look at the guy and they weren't eager enough to pursue anything beyond that.

My brother Matt never came to check in on me. He had asked me to entertain some clients at his club and with all the other shit going on, I had completely forgotten about it. I called him to let him know I was all right, but it went straight to voicemail. I knew he was punishing me, but I didn't really care all that much.

Within a few days, I was released from the hospital. Heyman wanted to see me, but I sent Randy to talk to him because I knew Brock would be there and I didn't want to look him in the eyes just yet. I told Randy everything that Cody had said to me, including his confession about stashing Ziggler's body in the basement of the house in my neighborhood and paying Brock to watch over it. I knew Randy already wanted to kill Brock for fucking me so roughly that night, but hearing what Cody had told me drove him over the edge. I told Randy to wait on Brock so we could find out if he knew anything else about Cody, but I wasn't sure how long Randy could hold off.

Tuesday came along. I was still healing, but I was feeling good enough to go and see Punk. He was watching the news when I came into his room, and I lay down beside him in bed so we could watch it, together.

The report was familiar. A body was found in the basement of a house being renovated in a middle-class neighborhood. The body was identified as Nicholas Theodore Nemeth, a former amateur wrestler and boxer who also went by the name Dolph Ziggler.

They showed the coroner loading the body bag into his van. I swallowed hard at the thought that someone I knew was in that bag. Punk turned to me and asked, "Isn't that crazy? They've been talking about this guy all day. He was tortured and stuff before he was killed. They think he was a male prostitute like you."

I could've just left it, but I decided to tell Punk, "I knew him."

"Really?" Punk let his mouth drop open in shock.

"Yeah. I mean, I knew him as Dolph. I guess I didn't know him all that well, because I had no idea his real name was Nick."

My head started to hurt as I tried not to remember catching a glimpse of Ziggler in the basement of the renovated house. At the time, I didn't know it was him, but I felt guilty for not making an anonymous call to the police when I did find out. I owed him that much.

The news moved on to another report as Punk asked idly, "They didn't say who killed him. Do you think it was one of his clients?"

"I doubt it," I shook my head.

I could feel Punk staring at me and I knew he was waiting for me to suggest it could've been Randy. I locked eyes with him and stated, "It wasn't Randy. He wouldn't kill someone who was a friend of mine."

"You just said you didn't know him all that well," Punk pointed out.

"I knew him well enough!" I shot back.

Punk rolled his eyes. His constant need to pin every problem on Randy was beginning to weigh on my nerves. I started to get up to leave, but Punk told me quickly, "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to sound condescending."

I reluctantly lay back down and we continued watching TV. After an hour had passed, I mentioned, "I should probably go."

"Do you have other clients?" Punk asked curiously.

This time, he sounded like he was legitimately interested. I told him with a shrug, "I have a few."

"Tell me some of their names," Punk said.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"I might know some of them," Punk shrugged.

I decided to play his game and rattled off the first name that came to mind, "Shawn Michaels."

Shawn was practically a recluse so I thought Punk couldn't possibly know him. I was surprised when Punk widened his eyes in shock and proclaimed, "Oh my fucking God! Shawn used to work as a janitor at my dad's office!"

"Small world," I mumbled grudgingly.

"I always thought he was kinda gay. He never hit on me or anything, but he was nice. He_ is_ nice, I hope," Punk said.

I snorted laughter and replied, "Yeah, he's good to me."

"Who else?" Punk asked quietly.

"I dunno, uh...David Otunga," I only mentioned him because he had been sending me texts since before I went to the hospital trying to get me to come over.

Punk's joking smile faded and he went very serious. I wondered if I had made a mistake mentioning David because he was a lawyer and Punk's father also owned a law firm. There was a short silence before Punk said, "I've met Otunga. He's creepy, and not in an exciting sort of way."

"He doesn't bother me all that much," I shrugged.

Punk's intensity didn't go away. I finally asked him, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just feel lost sometimes," Punk mentioned idly.

"Lost where?" I asked curiously.

He locked eyes with me and answered thickly, "I know it's corny as hell, but sometimes I feel lost in you."

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it seemed sincere. I wondered if he had taken some drugs before I came over because his eyes were dilated and a little glazed over. He leaned in a little closer and I realized he was about to kiss me as I pulled away and said softly, "Don't."

He made an agonized expression as if the words had hurt him physically. I added to ease his suffering, "Just not right now. It's too early, yet. Maybe in a little while..."

"Can I do something for you?" Punk pleaded.

"I don't know if I feel right about that. I mean, you're paying for the time I'm here," I pointed out.

He ignored me and reached down to unzip my jeans. I knew it wasn't a good idea to go any further, but I wasn't thinking with my head at the moment and it felt good watching Punk go down on me.

He surrounded my cock with his mouth and started sucking it to bring on an erection. He was being careful about it because he knew I wasn't in the best of shape for major activity, which made the whole thing all that more arousing. I looked up and realized that Punk had left his bedroom door open and I knew Randy was there even before he stepped into the frame.

I could feel his stone gray eyes watching me get off as Randy stood silhouetted in darkness, showing no desire to stop what was happening, but being there in case I asked him to make it stop. Seeing him there made everything so erotic, I reached climax quickly and took both myself and Punk by surprise.

"I had more to show you, but I guess that'll have to wait," Punk joked as he rolled away from me.

I thought he would see Randy in the door frame, but by then, Randy was gone again. I breathed a sigh of relief and said sheepishly, "Yeah, I wasn't really expecting to get off that soon, either."

"I must inspire something in you," Punk pointed out arrogantly.

"Yeah," I agreed, not wanting to tip him off that it was actually Randy who inspired something in me.


	14. Fourteen: Simple Human

Fourteen: Simple Human

I woke up in the middle of the night. It had been more than a couple of weeks since Randy and I last fucked and all I could think about was sex. I rolled over on my side to see if he was awake, but I couldn't tell in the dark if his eyes were open.

"Randy?" I whispered.

He reached out to take my arms and he slowly rolled me over on my back so he could top me. He was careful not to rub up against the area where my stitches had been removed because it was still sore. Randy started kissing me softly, then more strongly as my arousal level built up to the point where I couldn't take it anymore.

I rolled over on my stomach and brought up my knees so he could easily come inside. I heard Randy spit into his hand and he glided into my backside as smoothly as butter. I groaned as I felt him start off with a slow grind, then he worked his way up to a quick and rough series of thrusts that were unusual but not painful. He reached underneath me and spread the palm of his hand across my almost healed wound, groaning with pleasure as he brushed his fingertips over the scar tissue there.

I thought I was strong enough to make it through a round of sex with Randy, but so much inactivity since being stabbed had me winded before I knew it. I waited until the point where I really couldn't take anymore and told Randy over my shoulder, "I'm sorry, but I gotta stop."

He didn't listen, but kept on thrusting. It wasn't like him not to stop immediately, and I got the odd sense that something was wrong.

"Randy?" I said, looking over my shoulder at him.

My eyes widened with horror as I realized that Randy wasn't fucking me, anymore.

_It was Cody Rhodes._

"No! No! No!" I was still screaming as I opened my eyes and saw Randy's face.

He was holding my head in his hands and it took me a few seconds to realize we were standing upright. I sighed with frustration and asked, "Was I sleepwalking again?"

"Yeah," Randy answered thickly.

I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was frustrated. Ever since my near death experience at the hands of Cody Rhodes, my dreams had become more and more vivid, sometimes bringing on nightmares dramatic enough to make me climb out of bed and tear up random areas of the apartment.

I had finally gotten to a point where I never sleepwalked as long as I was in bed with Randy. Now it seemed like I couldn't get out of bed fast enough.

"What did I ruin this time?" I asked morosely.

Randy shook his head and replied, "Nothing. You were yelling a lot and woke me up in time."

"I'm sorry, Randy," I felt like shit regardless.

"You didn't do anything wrong. If I had offed that sick fuck Rhodes when I had the chance, we wouldn't be in this mess," Randy blamed himself.

He pulled me into him and I let him hold me as I replied, "You did get him, and that's all that matters."

"Apparently not," Randy was still angry.

"Guess what I was dreaming about before Rhodes made an appearance?" I tried to lighten the mood.

I looked up at him and Randy pressed his lips against mine. He led me back to bed and we made out for a while. I kept waiting for Randy to take the next step, but he was still too concerned about my energy level, so he opted to go down on me, instead. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I wasn't about to complain.

He held his hand against the scar tissue of my wound, similar to the way he had in my dream. It felt good when he touched it, but at the same time, I hated that it was the reason he wouldn't fuck me.

_Goddamn healing process._

* * *

I was getting to the point where physical activity wasn't going to be a problem as long as I paced myself, yet I was still having issues with seeing clients. My experiences with Cody for some reason only affected my abilities with outside relationships, such as with my clients, while my relationships with Randy and Punk had still stayed intact. It got to the point where I was dreading my appointments, even with my calmest clients like Shawn Michaels. I knew I had to get back to work at some point, so I decided to go to Heyman and ask for the only alternative: catering to female clients.

Like I've said before, girls usually go for high-end escorts and they're pretty rare in our level, but Heyman was always looking for someone who could pass for straight enough to keep our female clients coming back. I wasn't exactly the best with women, but I figured I could pass it off long enough to get over whatever was bothering me and then I could slowly work my way back to my male clients again.

"Switching teams, Cena?" Heyman asked with a wry smile when I came to his office while Randy was out with a client the next morning to ask about changing my schedule.

Brock shifted uncomfortably in usual place next to Heyman, but I wouldn't dare look him in the eyes. I just kept all my focus on Heyman as I answered with a shrug, "No, I just need a change is all."

"Well, that's great. That's just great," Heyman opened one of his black books and searched it for a list of women I could work with.

He wrote down five names and addresses and handed them to me. I gave him my cell so he could program the numbers in and sent them all a text about dates and times where I would be seeing them. He kept the texts in the sent box so that I could check them later and handed my cell back to me. His pudgy face was brimming with sweat as Heyman said excitedly, "The first girl is a bit high maintenance, but she pays very well. You'll be meeting up with her tonight. Her name is Eve."

"Got it. Thanks," I told him before walking out the door.

I was hoping to get out before Brock tracked me down, but I wasn't that lucky.

"John, wait!" Brock called to me when I was just a few feet from the door.

I could've ignored him, but something made me turn around and ask, "Yeah?"

He stopped just in front of me and stated curiously, "Why the hell are you taking girls, now? You never wanted them, before."

"Like I said, I just needed a change," I replied.

Brock told me with a harsh sigh, "I don't really believe that. I think you're hiding something and you don't want Heyman to find out."

"I'm not hiding anything from Heyman. Now, if you don't mind, I gotta go," I started to turn away.

"You saw the body in the basement, didn't you?" Brock made it sound like he already knew the answer.

I slowly brought my eyes up to his and countered, "Why even ask if you know I saw it?"

He put his hands up in defeat and argued, "Look, I didn't know it was Ziggler. The guy who paid me said he was the lawyer to the guy who owned the house, and he said his client had connections so I was just supposed to keep my mouth shut and watch the house until morning."

What he said had me confused. As far as I was concerned, Brock knew Ziggler had been put in the basement, and Cody confessed that it was_ he _who had killed Ziggler. Cody had never mentioned a lawyer being involved, and I had never known Brock to be thoughtful enough to make up a detail like that.

"Lawyer? What lawyer?" I asked curiously.

Brock had to think about it before he told me, "It was David Otunga. I didn't think about it until later that he was one of your clients. Is that why you are switching to girls, 'cause you don't wanna see him?"

I was completely stunned. I asked to be sure, "It was David Otunga who paid you to watch the house on behalf of his rich client?"

"Yeah. Honest to God, though, I really didn't know it was Ziggler's body in the basement until I saw it on the news. I figured it was just some kind of a mob hit or something, the way Otunga was going on about keeping it quiet and all," Brock shrugged.

"Thanks for telling me," I whirled around to leave.

"Wait," Brock started.

I was too angry to stop and listen to Brock to tell me he wants me for the zillionth time, so I said something I really shouldn't have, "I'll be sure to tell Randy not to kill you, now."

I heard Brock gasp in shock. I stunned him long enough to be able to get out of there. In a way, I was being honest with him because Randy really was planning on killing Brock.

Now I had a new target for Randy. I never liked Otunga that much, anyway.


	15. 15: Coming Undone

15: Coming Undone

I made my way back to our apartment as quickly as possible. I wanted to wait there and tell Randy what Lesnar had told me as soon as Randy came home. I rushed through the door without even looking and slammed it shut. It was only when I turned around that I was startled to find Randy already standing there.

He grabbed me by the hips and shoved me roughly against the door, not enough to hurt me, but enough to make his point. His eyes bore into mine as he stated venomously, "I told you to stay in the apartment. If you needed something, you could've waited until I got back."

I shook my head and argued, "I had to see Heyman, and there's no way you would've let me go without a fight."

He made a wry smile and turned his head to one side as he said pointedly, "That's because I knew what you were considering, and I didn't want you making any decisions without talking it over with me, first."

Randy was frustratingly calm about telling me what I should be doing. I threw my hands up and countered angrily, "I know what you would've done! You would've asked Heyman to give me more time off, and that's not what I want!"

I pulled away from him and surprisingly, he let me go. I went into the kitchen and paced it as I rambled on, "I'm still fine with having sex, but I'm just tired of always being the one who gets fucked! Now I wanna be the one who fucks the client!"

"So you're taking on all the girl clients," Randy said it like it was a dumb shit idea.

I stared at him and retorted loudly, "It's temporary. You know as well as everyone else that the girls don't need as many appointments as guys. I'm just supposed to make them want to keep coming back to us."

"Sounds like you're setting yourself up for a shit fest," Randy scoffed.

I sat up on the kitchen counter and he came closer to me. I didn't have to tell him anything else, but I wanted to anyway, "Heyman's got me set up with some girl tonight named Eve. She likes having two guys at the same time, so I'm supposed to meet up with another escort and he'll teach me the ropes. It shouldn't be that hard."

"They have another guy picked out yet?" Randy asked curiously.

"Not that I know of. Probably some Fabio-type who's in love with himself," I rolled my eyes.

Randy leaned into me and pressed his lips to my ear, whispering thickly, "You know how threesomes work, John. This girl Eve will probably wanna see some boy-on-boy action, or if not, the other guy is most likely bi and he'll be trying to tease you as much as he teases the girl."

He took in a deep breath and sighed, "He'll probably try to stick it in you while you're screwing the chick."

Just listening to Randy's words brought up visuals that my body couldn't ignore. I tried to pull away and act like I was repulsed by it all, but I was already getting hard and Randy wasn't the least bit deceived. I still didn't want to let him win as I hopped down from the counter and argued, "Doesn't matter, I'll just deal with it tonight."

Randy blinked slowly and I could tell he didn't want me to go. I ignored the rage building behind his eyes at my insistence on challenging his ways and changed the subject, "Lesnar stopped me on the way out of Heyman's office. He said he didn't know Ziggler was the body in the basement, and that David Otunga was the one who paid him to watch the property where Ziggler was being kept."

Randy's eyes widened in a rare moment of surprise. Then his eyes narrowed and he asked, "How do you know Brock's telling the truth?"

"I don't, but there's no reason why he would lie to me when he knows what you could do to him," I pointed out.

Randy nodded and his gaze drifted off into deep thought. He returned moments later and asked, "What should we do about Otunga?"

"He was working for Rhodes, and since Rhodes has been dead for more than a couple of weeks now, Otunga probably knows something's happened to him," I thought out loud.

"If Otunga's smart, he's left town by now," Randy mentioned.

"He was still sending me texts the last time I went to Punk's. My gut tells me he either knows the plans Rhodes had for me and he wants to know why I'm still alive, or something else more important than his own life is keeping Otunga here," I said.

Randy started for the door and replied, "It could be he's sticking around to keep himself from looking guilty. If anyone found out Rhodes owned the property where Ziggler was found, they'd be questioning everyone linked to Rhodes, including Otunga. I'll swing by his office and see if he's still doing business as usual."

"What about me?" I asked.

Randy looked at me and stated seriously, "Stay here until tonight's appointment with your girl, Eve."

Usually, I would've rolled my eyes at him, but something about Randy's gaze told me he wasn't just making idle threats this time.

"Alright, I'll stay," I made a frustrated sigh.

Randy slammed the door and I called through it, "Bring back some pizza if you get home sooner!"

I doubted he heard me.

* * *

I spent most of the day dozing off while watching TV in bed. I was so totally bored and the night wouldn't come on fast enough. Randy never did make it home any earlier, so I got up and left as soon as it came time to meet up with my client.

She was staying at a ritzy hotel on a suburb just outside of L.A. It wasn't hard to find, but I felt kinda out of place wearing a t-shirt and jeans to a place that looked like it catered to celebrities and millionaires.

Heyman had already sent me a text with the room number, so I figured I'd just go up and knock. It was almost midnight and there weren't many people around, but I saw a guy in the lounge that looked just like Alec Baldwin, and another guy coming out of the elevator that was huge enough to be someone's bodyguard.

The elevator took me up to the fifth floor and I trotted out to find the room. It seemed like I would never stop walking before I finally hit room 538, the number that Heyman had given me.

I knocked twice and loudly cleared my throat. It was supposed to be the first of two signals that I would make to be sure I got the right room. The door opened and a gorgeous young woman with bronze skin and a mass of chestnut curls asked with a giggle, "Are you John Cena?"

"Yes I am, ma'am," I made the motion of tipping my hat to her, and she smiled warmly as she moved aside to let me in.

I was going to mention after she closed the door that I hadn't seen the other escort, but when I glanced at the bed, I realized I wouldn't have to: Randy was sitting on the edge.

He was wearing nothing but a white hotel bathrobe. It was hanging open to expose his chest and hints of his crotch every time he moved. He was staring up at a big screen TV that was showing some kind of a soap opera and he kept taking red grapes off of a silver platter next to him and popping them in his mouth.

It took me a minute to register that it was really him. He was acting so...normal.

The scene on the TV changed and Randy waved Eve over to him as he asked, "Hey, Baby, come explain this piece to me. Why is the guy with the mustache so mad at the younger guy with the platinum vest?"

She rushed over and dove into his lap. Randy caught her easily and he tugged at the straps of her sun colored shimmering dress while she went on about the characters on the TV. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom so I could undress and find my own robe, but there were no more to be found, so I just wrapped a towel around my waist and came back out.

Randy and Eve were already going at it. Eve had her dress hiked up past her hips and she was riding him on top while Randy moved his hands all over her body. Eve had her eyes closed and she was letting out deep moans of pleasure that even had me feeling good.

Randy looked over at me and he let his true self come through for a moment as he gave me a wry smile and beckoned me with a lick of his lips to get into bed. I went over and climbed in on the other side so I could come up behind Eve. I brought my hands around to her front and teased her nipples to bring her closer to climax.

She stopped and looked back at me as she asked, "Wait, would you mind putting it in my ass?"

I was caught off-guard by how blunt she was and it took me a few seconds to reply, "Uh...yeah, sure, yeah."

There were already some condoms scattered on the bed and I grabbed one of them to put on. Eve pointed to some lube at the edge of the bed and I squirted some in my hand to lather myself. I heard Eve make a frustrated sigh so I quickly came back to her and said, "Alright, I'm ready."

She leaned forward to let me in and I could see Randy's cock sticking out of her middle. My cheeks grew hot as I suddenly realized that I was so much more attracted to him than to Eve.

"Will you hurry it up?!" Eve snapped me out of my daze.

"Sorry," I said, but the look in her eyes told me I had already killed the mood.

The night was about to be blown when Randy grabbed Eve strongly by the hips to make her face him and he asked thickly, "What if he puts it in_ my_ ass while I fuck you?"

I blinked with surprise and Eve replied with an enticing moan, "Oh, I wonder what that looks like."

Randy quickly rolled Eve over on her back and she laughed out loud. He looked over his shoulder at me and I knew I only had seconds to get inside before Eve got bored, again. I got on my knees behind Randy and slowly worked my way in, finding it much easier to enter him than Eve.

I had never fucked Randy, before. It was a totally different viewpoint to be staring at the tribal tattoos across his back rather than the skulls on his shoulders and arms. He started making thrusts and I had to move with him to keep up the rhythm. It felt so good to be topping him, I was afraid I would cum too soon and ruin the whole thing.

Eve seemed to be liking what we were doing to her. Watching Randy please her was a totally new concept for me, especially when he made such a fuss about girls and didn't seem to ever want anything to do with them. He seemed to have a talent for pleasing them, though, and Eve was practically almost screaming when she finally released.

Randy pulled out of Eve and sat forward so I could finish. I was surprised to feel him cum at the same time that I did, and I wondered if Eve would notice as well.

I glanced up at her, but she was still lying against the bed, seemingly fast asleep. Randy sat up and turned to face me like nothing was wrong. I asked him curiously, "Did Eve pass out?"

"No, I killed her," Randy answered calmly.

"What?!" I yelled, crawling over to check on her.

The bronze color had drained from Eve's face. Her lips were blue and she was no longer breathing. I fell away from her and asked Randy in shock, "Why did you do it?"

"She's a black widow, John. She's had four rich husbands who've died in violent ways. At least her fifth and most recent husband will be burying_ her_, this time."

I just stared at Randy because I could hardly believe it. He crawled slowly over to me and his eyes locked onto mine like a predator coming for its prey. He lowered me back against the bed next to Eve's lifeless body and Randy pressed his lips against mine in a tender kiss.

By the time he pulled away, he was already getting hard again. He stared down at me and asked thickly, "Could I fuck _you_, now?"

I nodded and answered softly, "Yes."


	16. 16: Newfoundman

16: Newfoundman

Randy was insatiable after killing Eve. We fucked four times all over the hotel room before he finally told me to leave so he could do a thorough clean-up. I had no idea what he planned to do with Eve's body, or if he even wanted her to be found. The only thing that was clear to me was that Randy was so turned on, it took every ounce of strength he had left to get me out the door.

I took the bus home and went straight up to our apartment. It was already the early hours of morning and I didn't have much time to sleep before I would be awakened by the usual noise of daily L.A. I took a shower before I dove into bed on my stomach and hugged my pillow underneath me. I realized after lying there a few minutes that I wasn't really tired and all I could think about was Randy coming home to me.

It wasn't that I really enjoyed the fact that he killed Eve and we had passionate sex next to her lifeless body. The thought of being beside a corpse didn't exactly turn me on, and I kept my eyes on Randy the whole time. What had me going was his sheer tenacity. He was like a predator roaming freely in his own territory, unleashed to do whatever he pleased now that his most basic instinct had been fulfilled.

There wasn't a time I could recall where we'd had sex after Randy had killed someone. I knew there were times when he told me what he had done, and he did act like he wanted to fool around afterward, but it was never so much a desire for him to take me before as it was tonight.

I glanced at the clock. It had only been a couple of hours since I saw him last, but it felt like an eternity. Every little sound made me look at the door, thinking that Randy would be coming through it at any moment and we could spend more time together.

I played the night over and over in my mind. The third time was in a really interesting position where I was riding Randy on top in the reverse-cowboy position. We were on this glass table in the middle of the room and it was so badly smudged with our sweat and cum by the time we were done that it looked all cloudy. God, I wish I could've taken that table home.

"Randy?" I called out as another noise turned my attention the door.

A few seconds of silence told me it wasn't him and I buried my head in my pillow, again. I was still thinking obsessively about Randy when my brother Matt randomly popped into my mind.

"Oh fuck," I whispered when I realized I hadn't even so much as sent him a text in weeks.

I had kind of sworn him off when he didn't bother to visit me in the hospital after Cody stabbed me, but the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if Matt had any idea I was in the hospital at all. Randy hated Matt enough that he wouldn't call him, and there was no one else I had any contact with who could pass the word along to Matt.

"I'm such a dick," I cursed myself as I rolled out of bed and looked for my clothes.

I knew Matt would be awake because he owned a night club, but getting there was going to be tricky without any transportation. I decided my best bet was to call up the only other person who would still be awake.

"Can you come by? I need a ride to see my brother," I told Punk when he answered his phone.

"You have a brother?! Why didn't I know this?!" Punk made it sound like I had purposefully withheld this vital piece of information.

"Just come over," I told him, hanging up so he couldn't argue with me some more.

He showed up within 10 minutes and I came out to greet him. Punk glanced behind me as I got into the passenger's seat and he asked timidly, "Is Randy coming, too?"

"No. He's out on business," I remarked shortly.

Punk got the hint and made a short nod before driving off. He was unusually quiet and I had to bring it up after a few minutes of awkward silence, "Where's your soapbox?"

"My what?" Punk shot me a sideways look.

"Your soapbox, as in you're always ranting about stuff," I clarified.

"Oh. I dunno, I guess I don't feel the need to rant so much when I'm not on anything," he reminded me that he had stopped taking drugs on my behalf.

"I never told you to stop, you know," I pointed out, although it did ease my mind that I wouldn't walk into his room to find him dead of an overdose.

Punk replied with a shrug, "I feel better without them. Besides, when I'm clean, it's easier to remember everything about the time I spend with you."

I swallowed hard. I knew his remark was heartfelt, but Punk still seemed to think that I would somehow fall for him and break away from Randy, and that just wasn't the case.

"He's right up here," I pointed at the night club near the corner.

Punk sighed and pulled into the parking lot. He asked me when he turned the car off, "You want me to stay here?"

"It doesn't matter. I mean, you can meet Matt if you want, but I should warn you ahead of time that he's a real dick-in-a-picnic-basket," I told him with a wry half-smile.

Punk laughed and followed me out of the car. I led the way inside and our senses were drowned out by loud music and zealous college students grinding against each other on the dance floor. I saw a few famous faces but ignored them as I stayed on the lookout for Matt. He was usually near the back in one of the VIP domes, but I didn't see him right away and it struck me as odd.

A weird feeling rose up in my gut. My instincts were telling me that something wasn't right, but by all appearances, the club was bouncing as usual and I had no real reason to be nervous. I glanced back at Punk and shouted so he could hear me, "Matt must be in the back!"

Punk nodded that he heard me and I led him to the concealed back entrance just behind the bar. The music on the dance floor slowly faded away as we walked down the hall and rounded the corner to the back room. I caught sight of the club's bouncer, Chris Masters, and nodded a hello at him. We knew each other well and his face lit up when he saw me, but then his expression faded and he appeared sad when I came near.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked, taking his hand and giving him a quick pat on the back.

Chris replied with a chuckle, "Same as always."

I let go of him and he gave me a sad smile as he added, "It's good to see you."

I motioned over my shoulder and made introductions, "Chris, this is my friend Punk."

They gave each other a quick nod, then Chris opened the door to the back room for me and said, "Jeff is inside doing some accounting."

"Isn't Matt here, tonight?" I asked curiously.

Chris' entire face fell and his skin turned pale as he asked, "You don't know?"

Now I knew that something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" I immediately asked.

I heard Jeff say from right behind me, "Come on in, John. I've been expecting you."

Chris nodded for me to go ahead and Punk stayed behind so I could be alone with Jeff. He was standing behind Matt's desk and he shook my hand when I held it out to him. Jeff Hardy appeared more responsible than Matt and he was good at the books, but I never got along with Jeff because Matt always saw him as more of a brother to him than I was, and Jeff was also the one who introduced Matt to the night life, which included gambling and drugs, two demons that Matt was never able to conquer.

I knew even before Jeff told me, "Matt passed away a couple of weeks ago."

A part of me felt legitimately saddened to hear the news, but a bigger part of me saw it as a long time coming and I didn't even feel the need to cry. This caused a certain level of guilt, but I swallowed it down so I could ask Jeff, "What happened?"

I expected him to tell me it was from a gambling debt or an overdose. I even half-expected to hear Matt had crashed his car or done something lame that caused his own death. I was even expecting Jeff to say Matt had committed suicide. He owed so many people that he probably knew it was only a matter of time before they got him, first.

"Matt was murdered. I found him stabbed to death behind the bar when I came to check in on him one morning. Weird thing was he called me the night before and said he wouldn't be stopping by the club until the next night," Jeff told me.

"Was it a hit? Or settling a gambling debt?" I probed for more details.

Surprisingly, Jeff shook his head and replied, "I've seen those kinds of kills. They come with a pattern and they're not necessarily without warning. Matt was in debt but not bad enough for a hit. The only thing he complained about before he died was that he had asked you to come in and cater to some high profile businessmen he was looking to impress, but you never showed."

"Yeah, I remember talking to Matt about that. I honestly forgot about it and I meant to make it up to him," I added sheepishly.

Jeff confessed the truth to me, "It's a good thing you didn't come, man. The guys Matt wanted you to hook up with were rich alright, but they looked like those creeps who take guy & girl prostitutes back to their hotel, tie them up and do fucked up gang rape type shit to them, and then move on because no one would dare tell them to stop."

My eyes widened in shock as I asked, "Are you sure about that?"

Jeff nodded and replied, "When you didn't show up, Matt called some girls and a guy in from that adult place a few blocks down. I don't know what the hell happened to them, but it scared them all so bad that they'll never come back here, again, and we've been doing business with them for ten years."

"Do you think Matt knew what these guys were like?" I hated to ask but I just had to know.

Jeff let out a long sigh and told me somberly, "I don't think it's right to talk about the dead like this, and I hate it even more that I have to be the one to tell you, John, but Matt didn't give two shits about you the way you did for him."

I already knew that but hearing it from someone else made it more difficult to swallow. Jeff went on, "He made good money off of those rich sons of bitches. Getting his money was worth letting those guys tear your ass wide open with their bare fists."

I couldn't help making a mental image out of Jeff's words, and it made me feel violently ill. I had never fully realized how little Matt thought of me until that moment, yet it was too late to be furious with him and all I could do was send the pain below.

Still, Matt's death didn't make sense to me. I looked at Jeff and asked, "Do you think Matt's death was linked to the girls and the guy he sent out with those rich SOBs?"

Jeff answered with a shrug, "Doesn't seem likely that they would retaliate. They're just a low-budget place and killing Matt would've gotten them nowhere."

"What about someone who knew that Matt was basically sending us to the slaughter, for lack of a better term?" I asked.

"Maybe. Look, the only guys who knew about it were me and Matt, and you, of course. He asked the others to come at the last second, but that was _after_ you didn't show up, so if it was some kind of retaliation, it would've had to have been on_ your _behalf," Jeff pointed out.

Jeff waited for me to respond. When I didn't, he asked curiously, "Did you tell anyone what was going on?"

I didn't want to say out loud that I had told Randy, but I did mention, "I only told one person, but I had no idea these guys were dangerous and I don't know how he would've found out."

"Maybe he heard it from the girls and the guy that did go," Jeff theorized out loud.

I shook my head and replied, "It just doesn't make sense."

"Well, then, maybe it wasn't a retaliation," Jeff concluded.

I wasn't so sure. I let out a deep sigh and asked, "Do I need to identify Matt's body or anything? What about a funeral?"

"I took care of it all. He's buried at Parkview just a mile from here, if you want to go and see him. Needless to say, I was the only one at the funeral," Jeff told me.

My stomach turned over at the thought that no one else was there for Matt. I asked angrily, "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

"I tried, but your buddy Randy answered the phone. He said you were in the hospital and couldn't make it out to Matt's funeral. In fact, it was Randy who paid for him to be buried," Jeff mentioned.

"What?" my voice came out as a whisper.

Jeff glanced at me and replied nervously, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought he told you. Isn't that why you're here?"

"I have to go now," I turned to leave.

"Wait, do you want Matt's share of the club or-" I slammed the door before Jeff could finish.

Punk and Chris were talking at the end of the hallway and they both stopped when I came out. I breezed past Chris without looking him in the eyes as I said simply, "See ya later."

Punk ran after me and I rushed to get into the car. He got in and pulled out of the parking lot, asking me as he headed back to my apartment, "What happened?"

"My brother's dead," I stated darkly.

"Oh man, oh I'm sorry to hear that," Punk said sympathetically.

"You shouldn't be sorry. Matt was an ass and he was planning to hand me over to some rich shithead businessmen who wanted to fuck me sideways and inside-out for money," I retorted angrily.

Punk was silent for over a minute before he asked quietly, "What did he die of?"

"Doesn't fucking matter," I shot back.

Punk didn't say another word as he drove me back to my place. He let me out and I stormed up to the apartment, feeling mad as hell as I rushed through the door and found Randy sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me.

"I thought you'd be home before me," his voice was thick and oddly serene.

"I just went to see Matt, and guess what? HE'S DEAD AND YOU FUCKING KNEW ABOUT IT!" I roared.

It was too hard to see his reaction in the dark, but I doubted he was the least bit surprised I had found out. I stormed right up to him and furiously spat my accusation, "I think you fucking killed him! I think you fucking killed him because you knew he tried to put me in harm's way and you fucking stabbed him to death!"

My vision was blurry. My head was pounding with a splitting migraine. I was blind with rage. I had never felt like this in my entire life, and it was rapidly consuming all the energy I had inside, yet I still felt like I was only experiencing a tiny fraction of the kind of furious energy Randy experienced on a constant basis. If this were anything like the storm raging inside of him, I truly had no idea how he restrained himself for any length of time between kills, much less how he managed to stop himself from killing me. _It seemed impossible._

Randy's face was still mostly concealed by darkness, but his stone gray eyes were visible from the moonlight shining in through the apartment window as he looked up at me and calmly replied, "I didn't kill him."

I wasn't sure if I heard him right or not. I was fully expecting a confession, but Randy shook his head like he was reading exactly what was on my mind and told me again, "I didn't kill him."

For the first time since I had known Randy, I didn't trust him. I blinked hot tears away from my eyes and pointed out, "But you've hated Matt for so long! You constantly tell me not to go near him! He was going to sell my ass to a bunch of rich fucking sadists and you knew he was dead but you didn't bother to tell me all this time! It all adds up to _you_, Randy! Just you!"

He turned his head to one side as if to ponder me for a moment before he said thickly, "For being the guy who just found out his brother didn't care much about him, you sure seem to want the one guy who does care about you to be prosecuted for his death."

As always, Randy was painfully perceptive. I was forced to look away as I replied softly, "I'm not angry that you killed him, I'm just angry that you didn't tell me why you were planning on killing him and you didn't tell me in time for me to be at his funeral."

"Would you have wanted to go if I told you I had killed him?" Randy inquired.

I knew I would be lying to myself if I didn't shake my head. Randy reminded me once more, "I didn't kill him, though."

"Then who did? Cody Rhodes didn't know about him, did he? Why the fuck would he kill him, anyway! Jeff said it wasn't a hit or a gambling debt repayment, either, so what the fuck happened?!" I screamed.

"I'll find out for you, if you want," Randy said.

I slammed my eyes shut to try and ease the pounding in my head as I replied morosely, "No, I want you to keep looking into Otunga. He's a bigger problem right now. Whatever is up with Matt's death will have to wait."

"You don't believe I didn't kill him, do you?" Randy made it sound like more of a statement of fact than a question.

"I don't know what to think right now," I gave nothing away.

Randy pulled me into him and pressed his lips to mine. We stumbled into bed together and he put his arms around me in hopes that I would stay with him all night and not sleepwalk at any point, but with the amount of stress I was under, it was doubtful I would be able to sleep soundly.

I still couldn't believe that Randy didn't kill Matt. The idea that Randy could be lying to me made his arms feel like an iron grip around me.

What was once my only comfort now felt like it were suffocating me.


	17. 17: Jack in the Fox

17: Jack in the Fox

"_Matty? Matty? Matty!"_

_I could hear myself calling to him, yet my voice sounded distant and I couldn't actually see my brother ahead of me. I wondered if I were calling to nothing but open air, until I caught a glimpse of someone just out of view and I was sure it was Matt._

"_Matty! Matty!" I yelled._

_He didn't come closer. My instincts told me he was afraid, so I crept quietly along, hoping that I could get out of this mist and find him._

_There was a moment of silence, and then..._

_Someone lunged at me and wrapped his hands around my throat. He was shrouded in darkness, but I knew he was the man in my dreams whom I was always running from. _

_He had found me, but this time, I knew why._

I was still arguing as I opened my eyes, "Matt, why did you let him come for me?!"

I blinked a few times and realized I was in darkness. My eyes adjusted after a few seconds and I could make out the tiled wall of the bathroom in the apartment. I felt a pair of warm hands wrap around my waist and Randy whispered into my ear, "You were talking a lot this time."

"What did I say?" I asked curiously.

Randy made a soft sigh before answering, "You were calling for Matt, but then you were yelling about a man that you seemed to be afraid of. I asked you why you were afraid and you told me he was going to put handcuffs on your wrists and hit and kick you until you couldn't move anymore."

Randy's description inspired a sickness inside of me that had been lying dormant for a very long time. I could feel by body shaking and my breathing turned more rapid, just like when I was handcuffed at Punk's beach house. I felt the same terror that I did then, although I could reason that I was an adult now and nothing bad was happening to me.

"You're working through dark memories from your past," Randy told me thickly, "Don't resist. Let yourself feel what you need to feel."

He seemed to know that I wanted to fight against what was happening to me. I let the feelings come up like he said. They threatened to overwhelm me. I truly felt that I could never overcome whatever had happened to me. I only had bits and pieces of these memories, and they hardly seemed real enough to make such a fuss about.

I started to sob and went down on my knees. Randy continued to hold onto me, getting down on his knees just behind so he could hold me against him while I felt the raw emotion of a child.

I didn't know what to call it. I didn't even know what was happening or why. It just was, and I knew there was no way I could stop it, now.

I cried for a long time. Randy didn't seem to care. He waited until I finished, then he led me back to bed so I could fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I was still in bed and Randy was gone. I began to wonder if I had imagined the whole episode the night before, until I saw the disheveled rugs on the bathroom floor and I remembered that it was where I had fallen on my knees.

I showered and waited for Randy, thinking he would show up at any minute with breakfast, but he didn't. I wasn't planning on going out alone again, but then I remembered the way I left things with Punk yesterday and I wanted to make things right between us.

I knew he would've taken the time to explain things to me if he were in the same position. I owed it to him to let him know that I was all right. I sent him a text that I was on my way over, and I was surprised he didn't answer me right back.

"That's not like him," I mumbled to myself as I got onto the bus to take me by his place.

The ride didn't take long, but getting into his house through the back door took some skill because it was broad daylight and there were gardeners and housekeepers working everywhere. Punk's father didn't know about me and I wasn't in the mood to come up with some lame lie about Punk and I going to school, together. I just wanted to see Punk and talk for a while before going back home to Randy.

I knocked on the door of Punk's room, but he didn't open it. I made a frustrated sigh as I realized he was out and I didn't want to wait at the bus stop for another hour before it came back, so I figured I could make myself at home until Punk's return.

I went inside and closed the door. I didn't plan on snooping, but something in the far corner caught my eye. and before I knew it, I was rifling through piles of paperwork on Punk's computer desk. Most of it was homework and rather skillfully drawn plans to destroy the world. I laughed over a few of them and made a mental note to ask him about it, later. I noticed he had left his cell phone on the end table next to his bed and I knew that was why he hadn't replied to my text about coming over.

"So much crap," I tossed the pile of papers back on Punk's desk.

Some of them fell to the floor and I sat down on the side of Punk's bed to pick the papers up. I noticed something buried under another stack on his floor and a single word stuck out to me: REALTOR

"Realtor?" I found it odd Punk would having any interest in real estate.

Curiosity got the best of me and I moved the pile aside so I could see the paper, better. It was kind of heavy when I moved to pick it up and I could see that it was a booklet of paperwork stapled together. I held it up to the light on Punk's computer desk and read the top panel:

_Sale of property and ownership..._

My eyes widened as I read the address. It was one I was familiar with.

_It was the address of the house where Dolph Ziggler's body was found._

I swallowed hard as my mind tried to process exactly what I was reading. I had told Punk that Ziggler was someone I knew and I wanted to reason that he was trying to solve Ziggler's murder by getting the paperwork on the property to show me as a possible lead. I wanted that to be the truth, even though I had already read the name of the buyer on the paperwork itself.

Philip Brooks. He was known to me as Punk.

I blinked as the realization suddenly hit me: _This whole time, I thought it was Cody Rhodes behind everything. The killing of Dolph Ziggler, hiding him in the basement of a broken down house in the area where I grew up, hiring my client Otunga to represent him as his lawyer and sending Otunga to hire my fuck buddy and the muscle to my boss Lesnar to watch over the property where Ziggler's body was being hidden. Lesnar had told me that Otunga was representing a rich client with connections, and I easily believed that meant Cody._

_But Punk was also a rich client._

The pieces started to come together in my mind: Punk was the one who took me to campus to confront Cody Rhodes. Punk tried to keep me away from Randy, the only person who could keep me safe, and Punk handcuffed me to the bed, a move that triggered harsh memory recall from my past. Punk managed to give me the perfect fuck so I wouldn't let Randy kill him, and Punk was the only other person besides Randy to appear after I was stabbed by Cody Rhodes.

My mind started racing as I linked more pieces together: Ziggler was one of my friends and we worked together, sometimes. Otunga was one of my clients. Cody Rhodes just happened to pass Randy and I on the street, seemingly at random. Lesnar was a convenient fuck buddy and the strongest connection to my boss. They all had connections to me, and now they had connections to Punk.

_Punk said he couldn't let me go. Maybe he meant that more literally than I understood, before._

My mouth dropped open as I linked together the possibility that Punk knew me long before I remembered meeting him. He was aware of the area I grew up in, and he was aware of my handcuff issues. Although he seemed surprised when I mentioned Matt, Punk was the one who drove me to the club when I discovered Matt was dead.

"Matt...he must've known about Matt..." was all I could come up with.

It made perfect sense. The clients Matt planned on handing me over to were very wealthy, and someone like Punk could easily know what they were like and where they were headed. With the right smooth talking, he could've found out I was supposed to be at the club to meet up with them.

Randy wasn't lying to me. He didn't kill Matt.

"Later, Dad!" I heard Punk yell from just outside the door.

I was too stunned to move. He opened the door and saw me sitting there. I waited for him to look down and notice the paperwork in my hands. When he did glance down, it was brief and he didn't seem the least bit upset as he closed the door behind him and said with a wry smile, "This is a first."

I slowly looked down at my hands. They were empty. The paperwork had slipped off of my lap while I was processing everything and it was now face-down underneath the computer desk, looking like just another random piece of the enormous pile of junk built up around it.

"I...I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for snapping at you, yesterday," I told him thickly.

My voice didn't sound like my own. Punk assumed it was just from the grief of my brother's death and he sat down beside me so he could put his arm around my shoulders. I was so numb, I had no idea what to do or how to react. I just sat there and let him console me like a lost child.

"It's okay, I understand. You just found out your brother died. It's a big deal," Punk nodded like he was approving of his own pity-speech.

"We grew up together, you know? I mean, I was adopted into his family. We were half-brothers, actually, but I always thought of him as family," I rambled.

The tips of Punk's lips twitched slightly. I could practically feel him becoming more and more uncomfortable as I went on, "He wasn't all that good to me when we were kids; not even now, but I loved him and I would've never wanted him to die like that."

The voice in my head told me something I hadn't quiet pieced together yet: _Punk killed Matty and he wants you to think Randy did it so you'll leave him._

I wanted to start sobbing and screaming at the same time. I wanted to kick Punk in the face repeatedly until he didn't have a face, anymore. I wanted to wake up and realize that this was all a waking dream and I wanted to find Matt alive and well and Punk back to being his crazy druggie self just like old times.

"I think your brother's in a much better place, John," Punk said the words like he was the first one to ever come up with them.

He pressed his lips to my left temple and gave me a gentle kiss.

And I felt something inside of me snap.

* * *

When time became clear again, it was well after midnight.

My hands were stained with mud and calloused from the shovel I had used to dig the grave. My t-shirt and jeans were stained with blood, but the mud hid most of it and anyone who saw me on the bus ride home just thought I was an extra in a horror film.

There were certain benefits to living in L.A.

I opened the door to the apartment and came inside. I closed the door and locked it. I wandered over to the bed and found Randy lying naked in it; waiting for me.

His stone gray eyes drifted slowly over every inch of my body. I climbed on top of him and he breathed in the scent of blood and sweat on my clothes before removing them. He dug away the skin underneath my fingernails and he kissed the scratches on my forearms where Punk had tried to defend himself against me.

"I took Otunga's head off," Randy told me.

"I strangled Punk after I realized that he was the neighbor kid who used to come over and play with Matt and they'd let Matt's dad handcuff me and beat the hell outta me."

Randy's eyes widened slightly as he asked, "Was Punk the little boy you were seeing in your dreams?"

"The very same," I answered.

Randy was quiet for a moment, then he said thickly, "You shouldn't have to kill again, John. You've overcome your inner torment."

I asked him quietly, "Will you still be my protector? Even after everything? Even if I have to kill, again?"

His eyes met mine, but it was no longer like a predator looking at its prey. Our gazes were the same, now.

"I'll always be your protector, John," Randy grinned.

I made a wry smile back at him, then I stated boldly, "Then show me how to not get caught."

**THE END**

**Thank you to everyone who took the time to review this story! If you enjoyed it, I would suggest my other Centon work: Follow the Gundown. If you didn't enjoy it, I have a wide range of Fanfiction stories and there will be more on the way! Thanks, again! =)  
**


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